


all my love's wrapped in red

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Brief William Nylander/Other, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, See Endnotes For Full Warnings, Slow Burn, alt title: romance via sugary beverages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Auston’s alright.Will is a little wary, because he doesn’t quite trust him, at least not yet, given that he’s an alpha and all. He doesn’t know what Auston’s motives are, even if they appear to be innocent enough.So in an act of self-preservation, Will tries to keep Auston an arm's length away.Keyword: tries.





	all my love's wrapped in red

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



> Full warnings, including sex-related warnings, are in the endnotes and possibly contain spoilers. However, I urge you to please check those if you have any serious triggers.
> 
> Explanation on Mildly Dubious Consent: Ultimately enthusiastic consent but influenced by other factors. A more detailed description is in the endnotes.

****The first time that Will meets Auston is —

Well.

It’s actually kind of funny because the front office calls him up and asks him, first, if he’d be okay with a young alpha on the team. As if they would pass up on Auston fucking Matthews because Will’s too omega to handle playing alongside him.

As if they would pass up on Matthews and keep Will around, when it would be that much easier to ship Will off to another hopeful hockey city so they can rally up around Matthews, instead.

Obviously Will had assured them that no, he has no issues, none at all, with having an alpha on the team.

Call it survival instincts.

But then Matthews walks into the locker room on the first day of pre-camp and Will swears that the world slows down for a moment. It’s like a movie sequence, and it’s so surreal, the way this kid just enters the room, enters Will’s life, just like that.

Will doesn’t say anything because that would be weird, especially when Matthews makes his way around the room until he finds his stall, just noticeably a little out of his element here. Will remembers the first time he’d been in the Leafs locker room, wide-eyed and naive. A little starstruck, even. And that’s after considering Will’s childhood spent in NHL locker rooms; he can only imagine how much more intense it is for Matthews.

He doesn’t find a chance to say anything to him, not before practice, at least. Besides, Will’s focus here is definitely not the new alpha on his team. It’s hockey.

So Will hits the ice and it instantly rights the world again, melts away his problems and makes everything better. Life is complicated, has been complicated for a while, but hockey will always make sense. Hockey is hockey, and that’s all that matters, once it’s all laid out on the ice.

Will’s pretty focused on his drills. It’s easy for him to get in the zone, especially when he feels like he’s been starved from the ice, despite all his personal ice time throughout the summer. It’s different, on team ice with his team.

It feels like he’s exactly where he belongs, and god does he love that feeling.

He’s so focused on doing his thing, lingering as one of the last ones on ice, that he doesn’t notice Matthews watching him from where he’s poised at the bench, leaning on the boards as he sips a Gatorade, one glove tucked under his arm.

Will doesn’t notice until he’s finished up with stickhandling and already cleaning up, lazily flipping pucks into the bucket with skillful little flicks with his stick. He only notices because he hears Matthews speak up for the first time.

“Damn,” he says, impressed. He finishes off his Gatorade and tosses it at the garbage can, doesn’t bat an eye when he sees it go in.

Will shrugs, flips the last puck into the bucket with ease, doesn’t bat an eye, either, when he sees it goes in just as easily.

“Matthews, right?”

“Yeah,” he says considering, “but you can call me Auston,” he pauses, “William.”

Will unceremoniously shoves the blade of his stick in the bucket and pushes it along until it’s at the bench for the gear team to pick up. He looks Auston over, then looks him in the eye.

Thoughtful, but cautious, nonetheless, he tugs off his helmet, holds it in the crook of his elbow.

“Actually,” he says, “just Will is fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Will presents when he’s fifteen.

No one even realizes what’s happening at first. To be fair, it’s not like there’s a precedent for presentation, not in the Nylander family, at least. Will wakes up feeling a little under the weather, just this side of unrested and achy, but not enough to raise concern. It’s midwinter in Sweden, after all, so he pushes through, takes a couple Trombyl with his breakfast, and that’s that.

Or, so he thinks.

It’s Saturday, so he’s got team practice at nine and then privates at two. Will feels like shit, continues to feel like shit, but pain is weakness leaving the body or whatever so he pushes and pushes through, ignoring how it gets a little bit harder to breathe, how he breaks into a cold sweat halfway through drills.

He probably would’ve ignored it all damn day, honestly, but they’re taking a break to switch jerseys into scrimmage teams and his own buddy — Dima Timashov, himself — starts coughing like the air has been punched out of him.

“Holy _shit,_ what is that smell,” he gasps, hands flying up to cover his nose.

Another one of their teammates gives him a confused look, chewing his mouthguard. “What smell?”

Will doesn’t smell anything, but then again, he isn’t really paying too much attention (mostly because he’s getting a little dizzy and he may or may not be shivering). He doesn’t really hear what Dima’s saying now, figures it’s probably something dumb and irrelevant, like it usually is.

So he’s a little startled when the coaches come over and Dima starts frantically gesturing at him.

“Will,” Coach says a little cautiously, carefully skating up to him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Um.” Will is conflicted, unsure if he should mention it. It’s not a huge deal and the last thing he wants to do is sound whiny. Or weak. He’s just about to say he’s fine, but then he’s hit with a smell so strong, stronger than anything he’s ever experienced in his life, and he starts coughing in a fit, halfway gagging.

“That’s a no,” says the trainer, quickly shouldering past everyone until he can grab Will and drag him off the ice.

Will doesn’t really remember much after that, mostly just the four eggshell white walls of the trainer’s room and a whole lot of Gatorade. Purple Gatorade. So much purple Gatorade.

He thinks he might have thrown some of it up, actually.

But at some point he must fall asleep, because eventually he smells his mum’s perfume, and she’s there, gently shaking him awake. Will blinks, a little hazy, and catches glimpses of the worry on her face.

He immediately feels guilty, and starts apologizing in a jumbled mess of Swedish and English, doesn’t really know what he’s saying, probably doesn’t even make sense, but spewing whatever words seem right.

“Hush, darling, hush,” she hugs him tight, runs her hands through his hair until he quiets down, until his heart rate slows to something a little bit closer to normal.

“Mum?” Will prods, an unasked question.

But she knows her son and understands immediately. “We’re going to take you to a special doctor but this isn’t anything serious, I promise,” she assures him. “We’ll get you all checked out and everything will be fine, this is normal.”

Will can hear her voice shaking a little, recognizes that she’s nervous, too. But she’s his mum and she says he’s going to be fine. He trusts her, will always trust her. So he tries his best not to throw up in the car, tries not to freak out when the doctors go through various tests and things.

Tries not to freak out when they sit him down and delicately give him his results.

Everything is _not_ fine.

 

~

 

Will hates being an omega more than anything in the world. It ruins everything, and he knows he sounds dramatic, he knows he sounds every ounce of the teenager he is, but it’s not fair and he hates it.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t the only one in his whole entire family line, traced back to as far as they can remember. Because his family is freaking out, no matter how well they try to hide it, and Will can’t help but feel like he’s the family fluke without even trying.

He hates feeling so… so… so _weak._

The doctors refer them to dynamic specialists, who have separate meetings with Will and his parents the next day. They make him watch some dumb educational videos about presenting, about the basics of being an omega. They make him take a bunch of pamphlets, everything from feelings to heat sickness to alphas, even one on scents and what they mean.

He meets his parents in the waiting room, where his mum’s got an equally ridiculous amounts of books and papers and pamphlets. His dad’s only carrying one: _The Beta Guide to Raising an Omega in a Non-Dynamic Household_.

God, that’s so embarrassing.

His mum flags his attention by waving around a half sheet a paper, reflective on the edges and scrawled over in messy handwriting. “Let’s go pick up your suppressants and then we can get some ice cream, yeah?”

Will steals a glance at his dad, who smiles and pats his back, so Will sighs and nods, takes the peace offering as it is.

So they drop off the script at the drive-thru pharmacy by their house and go for ice cream down the road. No one protests when Will orders a full on sundae, chocolate sauce and toppings and all.

Really, he should’ve known, should’ve realized it then. It’s a trap, an _ambush_ really.

“So,” his mum starts a little awkwardly, when he’s almost through his sundae. “We have to talk about some options, here.”

Will pauses, mid-scoop. “Options?”

“Well, there’s a couple things. You know your mother and I are both betas,” his dad takes over, “and we don’t want you to be deprived of dynamic interaction—”

If Will wasn’t already embarassed, well, he definitely is now.

“—so we were thinking that maybe it would be a good idea for you to change schools. There’s a private academy nearby, just outside of Stockholm. It’s exclusively for omega students. We think it’d be good for you to be around peers of your, er, dynamic.”

It’s definitely awkward, and Will is pretty thankful that he’s no longer eating, lest he accidentally choke and die from the sheer awfulness of this discussion.

“You’re joking,” Will manages. “I have to change schools?”

“We think it’d be the best environment for you, that’s all,” his mum tries to assure him.

Will is about to argue it more, but a thought suddenly clicks, hits him and sends him reeling. Nearly shaking, he says a little quietly, a little scared, “what about hockey?”

His parents share a look, like they’d been anticipating this. His dad swallows, clears his throat. “You know I’d never, ever, take hockey away from you.”

And that’s… that’s true. Will instantly relaxes, slouches back into his chair and takes a deep breath.

“I’m going to play no matter what,” Will declares, crosses his arms over his chest, determined. “I don’t care what anyone says, I am going to play.”

“Of course” his mum says, hurried.

“I’m still going to the NHL,” Will continues, stubborn.

His parents share another look, a silent conversation. He knows what that means, but he doesn’t care, they can uproot his whole life and bring him all the way to Sweden, they can make him change schools, but they cannot take the NHL away from him.

“I am,” he tells them. “I don’t care, I am.”

“It’s not,” his mum says and pauses, trying to find the words. “It’s not that your father and I don’t want you to, and we will support you every step of the way, if that’s ultimately your decision—”

“It is.”

“—but it’s going to be a million times more difficult than before. You’re going to have to work twice as hard, love. You’re going to have to prove yourself more than anyone else out there.”

Somewhere deep down, Will has known this, has been thinking about it since yesterday, when they gave him his results. But hockey is everything, it’s all he has, and he refuses to give it up without the fight it deserves.

“I’m going to play,” he repeats, with just as much conviction. “Whatever it takes.”

It’s quiet for a moment but then his dad smiles a little, nudges his mum under the table.

“That’s my boy.”

 

~

 

By the time anyone realizes that an all-omega school was maybe not the best idea, it’s too late to fix it.

Will is definitely an omega, despite what he thinks and despite how he acts, and this is proven when you strip it down to sheer biology. He definitely suffers through occasional flash heats, and adjacently, learns to cherish his suppressants for everything they do for him. Which is, basically, taking as much _omega-ness_ out of him as possible.

The thing is, Will adamantly rejects his dynamic, resents it in every way, and that’s how everything goes wrong.

Going to school exclusively with omegas — many of which have nothing against their dynamic, who have wholeheartedly accepted it, thrive on it even — means that there is oftentimes an empty role to be filled. Traditionally, it was probably meant for an alpha, but with none of _those_ around, it’s… _convenient_ for Will to... _step up,_ if you will.

No one realizes what he’s doing, or what he’s done, until it’s painfully clear what has happened. Or rather, when Will is nearly expelled for getting caught making out with an omega classmate. Again.

Actually, for like, the fifth time.

That they’ve caught him, anyway.

(He’s a little smug about it, if it wasn’t obvious.)

They’ve got him locked up in one of the empty conference rooms connected to the front office, just so the secretary can keep an eye on him (and make sure he’s not kissing Klara from History), while the rector waits for his parents to arrive.

Honestly, Will doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. It was just for fun, nothing serious. Yeah there was maybe a little tongue, but it’s not like he tried to knot her or something ridiculous like that. Besides, she was totally into it, so there’s no problem there. And really, it’s kind of weird, how invested all these adults are in Will’s personal life. He might bring that up.

In fact, when the door finally opens again and the rector is ushering his parents in, he opens his mouth and says, “I think it’s a little weird how invested you all are in my personal life”

His mother shoots him a glare that, yeah, kinda hurts. He may have winced. Just a little.

“William,” the rector sighs, settling into the chair on the other side of the table. “It’s deeper than that, and you know it.”

“Do you realize how embarrassing this is?” And that’s his dad, chiming in there. “This is, what, the fifth time? Honestly, William.”

Will doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms, petulant.

“We can’t keep letting this happen. I’m not sure where we went wrong—”

“Went wrong?” Will blurts, sitting up angrily. “I’m not a mistake, no one _went wrong_ with me.”

“William—”

“No, I’m not going to sit here listening to you talk about me like something’s wrong with me.” He stands up, starts shrugging on his coat.

“William Andrew Michael, sit down.” His dad’s standing too, has got his hand firmly on his shoulder, and it’s like a switch is flipped and all the defiance is drained right out of him. There’s a pull of sorts, something that makes him automatically sit down and sit still before his brain can even catch up.

(“Wow, I can’t believe that actually worked,” Will’s dad whispers to his mum.)

The rector sighs, but is softer, now. “This isn’t a punishment, but we just don’t think this establishment is the best place for you, Will.”

He steals a glance toward his parents, the shame finally overtaking his will.

“This is something we’ve been discussing for a while,” his mum amends when she catches his eye. “With hockey and everything else, we think it’d be better to homeschool.”

Will shoots up in his seat, incredulous. “Homeschool?”

“You’ll have more flexibility with hockey,” his mum tries.

“Oh so are you going to homeschool Alex, too?” he spits, the effect of his dad’s fake alpha act wearing out. “Or does he get to go to normal school and do normal things because he just happened to luck out and dodge the omega genes?”

“Now William—”

“It’s not fair!” he flails, red-faced and nearly in tears.

The room goes silent and the tension is taught, but Will hardly cares.

“Oh sweetie,” his mum says soft, puts her hand on his shoulder and rubs soothing circles. “I know it’s not fair, but the only way to overcome it is to embrace it and take control of it, don’t you think?”

Will sighs. “Fine. Homeschool. Got it.”

So Will collects his things from his locker while his parents wait in the car. As worn out as he is, he still manages to blow a kiss at Klara when he sees her in the hallway. She blushes and waves, then hurries away, and that’s all the pick me up Will needs.

Yeah, no, he knows exactly who’s in control here.

And it’s definitely _not_ his dynamic.

 

~

 

It turns out that it doesn’t even matter if Will is removed from stupid omega school because it’s only a few months before he gets in with Modo and ends up moving six hours away from home just to play hockey.

His family, and the majority of his problems, are in Stockholm, where they can no longer reach him. The only thing he needs to worry about, the only thing that he’s taken all the way up north with him, is hockey.

And that’s all he’s ever wanted.

Just plain, unadulterated hockey.

And god, does he take the opportunity by the ears and live it to the absolute fullest. He dutifully takes his suppressants every morning, but those become the sole reminder of his dynamic.

One thing that Will has come to appreciate about Europe is that the laws are generally a little more progressive than they are across the ocean. While dynamics are public record and must be declared in the American and Canadian leagues, Sweden has blessed him with the greatest gift: privacy.

And even better, Örnksköldsvik is definitely not the metropolis that Stockholm is. While back home there are plenty of alphas and omegas to sniff him out in a crowd, to freak out when he accidentally hits a flash heat (thanks, Dima), Will has yet to meet anyone other than a beta in all of Västernorrland.

Basically, as long as Will takes his meds like a good boy, his secret is his alone.

As far as anyone knows, Will is as beta as they come. His suppressants are easily disguised as part of his regular vitamin routine. His flash heats have waned out to the point of rare, to the point where he doesn’t really worry about having one while he’s up here.

There’s no prominence of dynamics in his life, so he doesn’t bring it up if he doesn’t have to.

After all, his billets are betas, his entire team and coaching staff are betas, his tutor is a beta, the cashier at the grocery down the street is a beta. Really, Will’s just doing everyone a favor by trying to blend in.

So Will learns to ignore the pulls and tugs of his instincts, does his best to push away anything that defines his dynamic, and just focuses on hockey.

It must work, because by the time he returns home, there isn’t much room for his parents to fret about his dynamic, to dredge back up his issues. He doesn't even have time to do his annual with the dynamic specialists. They’re already packing for the trip to Philadelphia, for the draft, for the _NHL_. His name’s already been buzzing around North America, and he’s done his best to tune it out, just like his coaches and his friends have told him to do, but despite it, word still spreads. Besides, Will has wanted this more than anything, wanted this his whole entire life.

Even so, it’s still a shock, when it does happen. It’s like a blur, and the world slows down for a minute because,

“Toronto is proud and happy to select, from Modo Sweden—”

_Did they just—_

“—William Nylander.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Auston’s alright.

Will is a little wary, because he doesn’t quite trust him, at least not yet, given that he’s an alpha and all. He doesn’t know what Auston’s motives are, even if they appear to be innocent enough. So in an act of self-preservation, Will tries to keep Auston an arm's length away.

Keyword: tries.

It’s hard to keep a distance when Auston finally settles into the team and starts hanging out with the guys more. They all have the same friends, of course, so it becomes almost impossible to hang out with the team without hanging out with Auston.

It’s not even that Auston goes out of his way to get to know Will, it just sort of happens, pretty naturally actually. He’s polite enough, and generally thoughtful, so he starts remembering little things about Will and bringing them up when necessary.

There’s this one time in the weight room where they just happened to finish their reps around the same time, bumping into each other at the fridge in the corner. Will’s glaring at the half-filled shelf of Gatorade like it’s just personally insulted him.

“What’d the Gatorade do to you?” Auston maneuvers around him and grabs one of the bottles, a purple one.

Will gives it a dirty look, then looks at Auston. “I can’t stand purple Gatorade, and someone already took all the blue.” Maybe he pouts, too, just a little.

Auston cracks his open and swallows it down. “Tough break, man.” He pats Will’s back twice like a good bro and heads back to his station.

They’re back in the weight room a couple days later and Will’s finishing up his reps. When he heads to the fridge, Auston is already there, sipping a purple Gatorade.

“Don’t tell me that’s all they have _again,_ ” Will groans as soon as he’s in earshot.

Auston grins.

“What?” Will says, a little cautiously.

“Here,” Auston beats him to the fridge, then shuffles some of its contents around. Will peers over his shoulder, curious.

Auston’s moved a bunch of the purple Gatorade to the side, a little haphazardly, but all the way in the back is something wrapped in a towel. Auston grabs it and shuts the fridge.

“Saw the last one and hid it,” Auston shrugs, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his neck, revealing the blue Gatorade it had been hiding.

Will blinks, then snaps back to it, takes it quickly.

“Thanks, dude,” Will says.

“No prob,” Auston says, then goes back to his weights.

For the next few weeks, Will can almost always find one single blue Gatorade, hidden in the back, behind all the purple ones, and wrapped in a towel.

Part of him is touched because yeah it’s nice that Auston remembers his Gatorade preferences and then goes out of his way to make sure Will gets one that he can tolerate. It’s not a huge gesture but Auston doesn’t _have_ to do that for him, so yeah, it’s very sweet of him.

On the flip, however, Will doesn’t _need_ anyone saving Gatorade for him and taking care of things for him. He’s not that kind of omega and doesn’t need to be treated like he is. He doesn’t need an alpha to… to _provide_ for him.

The thing is, Will is so unused to having an alpha around like this that he can’t decide if Auston is doing it as a friend, like he’d do for anyone else, or if Auston is doing it because of their dynamics. Whether instinctual or intentional, Will would rather lock himself up forever in his bedroom, all the way  back in Stockholm, than face the embarrassment of Auston fulfilling any kind of _omega needs_ he thinks he has.

To make matters worse, Auston is as clear-cut alpha as they come. It’s common knowledge that he comes from a long line of dynamic-bearing ancestors, grew up in a traditional dynamic home with an alpha and omega parent. Even one of his sisters is an omega, so he was practically raised into his dynamic from the get-go, something that Will never had, never had the security of.

Will spills this all to Kappy, of course, while they’re eating takeout and drinking Will’s stash of läger from home.

He’s picking at his phat siew, poking at a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks. Kappy looks at him pointedly, too occupied with his mouthful of beef to use his words. Will pretends he doesn’t notice, but Kappy makes a noise and kicks him under the table.

“Okay, okay,” Will sighs. And then he spills all his thoughts and worries in one breath, like he’d opened the floodgates and everything rushes out at once.

Kappy swallows down the last of his beef and then blinks.

“Dude, you’ve got some shit to work out.”

Will snorts, balls up a napkin and throws it at Kappy’s head. “No shit, man.”

Kappy catches it, instead, then quickly throws it back, bouncing it off Will’s head. He cellies,  because that’s just the way this household works. “Anyway, this solves absolutely nothing but you can just tell the trainers to start stocking more blue Gatorade. Boom, simple.”

Kappy’s right, it doesn’t solve anything and Will’s still got plenty of shit to work out, but it’s enough to keep stalling.

The next time Will goes for a Gatorade, there’s a full shelf of blue.

 

~

 

Will keeps putting it off until his own mother calls him out on it.

“What’s bugging you, darling?” She says over FaceTime one night.

“What do you mean?” Will shrugs, but knows it’s futile. There’s no way he could ever fool his own mum.

“Come on,” she gives him a look.

He sighs. “I think,” coughs, clears his throat, “I think I’m having some, er, dynamic feelings.”

His mum’s eyes go wide and she sits up a little. “Oh?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he tries.

“Does the team have a dynamics specialist? Or should I find a private one—“

“No!” Will cuts her off, then immediately apologizes. “Sorry, mum, but I mean. I don’t need to see a specialist or anything. I’ve just been… reflecting?”

She doesn’t look convinced but she drops it for now. “If you’re sure. But you’ll tell me if you change your mind?”

“Of course,” he says.

She pauses, then softens. “Do you want to talk about anything with me, maybe?”

Will hesitates. The last thing he wants is to give his mum the impression that there’s an issue with having an alpha, having Auston, on the team with him. But she’s still his mum, and Will still trusts her. He nods and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want you to make this bigger than it is, it’s just a small thing, and I swear that everything is fine. Okay?” Will shifts uncomfortably.

“Okay.”

A beat. “I’ve been experiencing some things that are… very omega, that I guess I like? But I don’t know if _I_ like it or if it’s just the omega thing talking?”

His mum frowns. “William Andrew Michael, are you talking about sex?”

And that’s not—

Will starts coughing, choking on air, on his surprise, whatever it is. “Oh my _god,_ I am absolutely _not_ talking about sex.”

“You better not be lying to me.”

“Mum! Really!”

She studies his face and crosses her arms. “Alright. So it’s not sex. Carry on.”

Will runs his fingers through his hair, tries to get back on his train of thought. “I just don’t know what I actually want? I guess is the problem?”

His mum is quiet for a minute, thinking. Then she leans in close to the screen and looks him in the eye. “Do you remember when you were expelled?”

“Um,” Will makes a face, “yeah, but—”

“Do you remember how we talked about not letting your dynamic control you?”

Oh. That again. “Kind of?”

“There are two ends of the spectrum, love,” she says patiently. “You can let it rule you by doing exactly as expected of you.” Will opens his mouth to say something but she continues, “which I would never believe you would ever do.”

She gives Will a very pointed look.

“But the other end of the spectrum is going out of your away to avoid things solely because they are expected of you. Either way, you are letting your dynamic confine you.”

“Oh,” is all Will says.

“Do whatever makes you happy, darling, no matter how your dynamic defines it. Does that help?”

Will thinks about it for a moment, but eventually nods. “It does. Thank you.”

“Any time, love. Now go get some rest.”

Will’s a good boy, he listens to his mother.

 

~

 

Will doesn’t purposefully pursue opportunities to let Auston get all alpha on him, but he doesn’t avoid them, either.

He’s more or less taken to sitting near Auston on the plane, just out of convenience. Kappy is still his seat buddy, of course, so it’s not like they’re actually sitting together-together, but they’re all within a one row radius; he and Kappy, Auston, Mitch, and whoever else is hanging around them that day. It’s essentially a necessary arrangement for playing cards and watching movies and doing whatever it is they do.

But today is a late flight and the lights have been dimmed, most of the guys are already knocked out. Will’s trying to sleep, too, but he’s never been able to get comfortable enough on planes. And it doesn’t help that he forgot his blanket, even if he does try to ignore the fact that he’s borderline shivering.

“Hey, Willy. Hey.”

Will turns until he can see Auston in front of him, twisted so he can look around the chair. He looks a little concerned, a little nervous. Will blinks at him.

“Um, well, I hope this isn’t weird, but um. You, uh… you smell kind of cold.” Auston looks so hesitant, so _awkward_ and so unlike the Auston he’s seen everywhere else. But he’s holding out his own blanket with a look on his face that Will interprets as ‘if you don’t accept my blanket I might cry.’

But. “What about you? Then you’re gonna be cold.”

Auston shrugs. “I’m actually kind of hot, I’m wearing like four layers.”

Will is about to laugh but covers his mouth at the last second, careful not to wake Kappy. “Why are you wearing so many layers?”

“It’s dumb,” Auston flushes. Then tries, “dude, just take the blanket.”

“No, no, tell me first,” Will grins, cheeky.

After a breath, Auston caves. “I’m bad at packing and couldn’t get everything to fit in my bag,” he admits, a little embarrassed.

And, yeah, Will tries his best to stifle his laughter, but it doesn't quite work. He’s not _loud_ , but he’s definitely this side of annoying. In fact, Kappy stirs next to him, but thankfully doesn’t wake. It’s a close call.

“Yeah, yeah,” Auston groans. “Now take the blanket, I won’t be able to sleep if you keep reeking like a snowstorm.”

He hums because _oh_ , that’s interesting. But he doesn’t dwell on it, saves the thought for later, and wraps Auston’s blanket tightly around himself.

Will falls asleep record fast, and dreams of warm hugs and Coca-Cola fountains.

Wait, what?

 

~

 

Will doesn’t even like soda. He’s never liked soda, even as a kid. Has always hated the way that the bubbles feel against his teeth, the way the sugary syrups residually coat his throat. The aftertaste is gross and unpleasant. And it’s bad for him, anyway.

Yet, he’s on his second can of Coke in the past hour.

Whatever this… this _craving_ or _addiction_ or whatever it is, it needs to stop immediately, before the trainers find out and start restricting his diet plan. Will doesn’t know what he’ll do if they take away cheese. He fucking loves cheese.

There is a brief moment where Will thinks this might be heat-related, so he spends a good hour on google (accompanied by another Coke) researching heat cravings and what they might mean. But eventually, after enough time on Wed MD, he concludes that he’s either dying, or that anything relating this to heat is a stretch. Besides, his suppressants haven’t failed him at all, never in all these years, so he really has no reason to doubt them now.

He doesn’t want to tell anyone on staff or his family because it’s really not a big deal and he definitely does not want to make it into a big deal. He figures it’ll probably pass in a few days and he’ll no longer feel like he needs a Coke like he needs oxygen.

And he’s more or less right. After all, Will can conquer pretty much anything if hockey is on the line.

They’ve got a couple days off in Toronto so he kicks the pack of Coke under his bed, behind his suitcases. Every time he’s hit with a craving, he heads downstairs and works out, sweats the craving out. Sometimes he can bully Kappy into coming with, and it helps, having the distraction.

Will returns to practice feeling pretty accomplished. He hasn’t had a soda in a full eighteen hours and still feels perfectly fine. It must’ve just been a weird urge or something, but it’s well on its way to gone, now. So he gets to practice, and waltzes into the locker room, feeling great about himself.

Except. He’s hit, hit _hard,_ with a scent that’s vaguely familiar and a little overwhelming. He knows exactly what it is before he looks, but he looks anyway, and accidentally locks eyes with Auston.

He could really use a Coke _right_ now.

 

~

 

There is a simple solution to curbing the Coke addiction, and maybe it’s not _preferable_ , but Will would rather loosen up a little and go down this alternative route than the one where trainers take over his kitchen.

“Hey, Auston.”

Might as well take his fill straight from the source, right?

“What up, Willy,” Auston grins, stickhandling a puck until he can thread it through Will’s feet and back around, saucy. Will tries to kick at it, but Auston is faster, dangling it away at the last second. Will laughs, fond, and Auston grins, too.

“Wanna grab lunch today?” Will says, leaning on the boards.

Auston’s eyes go just a little bit wider but he tries to hide it, cover it up quickly. Will smiles, a little amused.

“Uh, yeah,” Auston says, reaches back to scratch at the back of his neck, despite still wearing gloves. “Sure, that’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Will nods, then pushes off, leaving Auston in his ice shavings while he rejoins drills.

However.

One after-practice lunch turns into many after-practice lunches until it turns into routine after-practice lunches. Basically, no one is allowed to have lunch with Auston or Will unless it’s with both Auston and Will at the same time.

They’re even worse on the road.

Movie nights in interchangable hotel rooms are the new standard. Sometimes they lie to themselves and invite Mitch or Kappy or Brownie, or any combination of the above, to join in. They order room service or UberEats, usually depending on whether or not the hotel has cinnamon buns, because that’s all Auston ever wants.

It’s not even like they’re _doing_ anything. Will stays on one bed and Auston stays on the other, with any combination of their friends spread out across either bed and the floor in between. Half the time they fall asleep like that and wake up in tangled messes of lanky hockey limbs and flat pillows.

They’re all friends, it happens sometimes, and it doesn’t mean anything, never means anything.

That said, Will’s not really sure why it suddenly feels like it means something when their friends decline and it’s just Auston and Will, watching a movie on their separate beds, falling asleep, and waking up in the same room (but still in separate beds) the next morning.

One of the only perks of having a dynamic in the NHL is having a solo rooming assignment from day one. Sure, Will shares an apartment with Kappy back home, but it’s important for him, and all the other dynamic-bearing players in the league, to have their own space in case they have to deal with any heat or rut symptoms.

So, by law, both Auston and Will have their own separate rooms.

Which is maybe why it could possibly be just a little bit weird to wake up in the same room, even if they didn’t _do_ anything.

It’s a little awkward that first time, because they both silently reach the same conclusion. They don’t acknowledge it, but they exchange sleepy pleasantries, a little forced, a little stiff. Auston eventually stretches out and toes on his shoes. He checks the peephole in the door and, after deciding that it’s safe, heads out in a rush.

The next time, he’s a little less cautious.

The time after that, he almost forgets to check the peephole.

And the time after that time, he doesn’t check at all.

Eventually, this happens enough that they don’t even try to hide it anymore.

One morning, Will’s leaving Auston’s room, shouts something witty at him as he’s leaving, door half yanked open. He’s still laughing when he tugs the door closed and almost runs face-first into Kappy.

“Oh, hey, dude,” Will says.

Kappy raises a brow at him, glances over his shoulder, at the door that he’d just come out of.

“Did you just—”

“No!” Will cuts him off, face going instant red. “I mean, no it’s not. I just,” he swallows, tries to shrug casually, but failing miserably. “Movie, you know?”

“Um,” Kappy says a little slowly, eyes him up and down, “if you say so, bud.”

Will opens his mouth to keep going but Kappy thumps him on the chest and leaves him, back on his way down the hall. Will stands there for a minute, still processing what had just happened.

Oh.

(It hits him.)

Well, fuck.

 

~

 

Will’s absolutely starving, famished, even, and this is starting to cross over into the realm of unreasonable.

“Dude, this is the third taco place we’ve ubered to. Can’t we just eat here?”

Auston frowns. “No, they don’t have horchata.”

The hostess cuts in, “we do have an extensive selection of agua fresca, though.”

Will didn’t think it possible, but Auston frowns even harder. It’d be a little funny if he wasn’t an hour past starving.

“Do you know of anywhere in Winnipeg that sells horchata?” Auston asks the hostess. The hopelessness is radiating off of him and, yeah, this would have _definitely_ been funny an hour ago.

Will nudges him. “Why do you need one so bad?”

“I just need it,” Auston huffs, put out. “You wouldn’t understand.” He’s already got his phone out to call up another uber, focused on it as they leave. Will apologizes to the hostess and makes quick to follow him out.

“Can we like, call the restaurant before we go this time,” Will whines.

Auston pauses and looks up. “Do you want to do it?”

Will rolls his eyes and snatches Auston’s phone right out of his hands. He wastes no time in hitting the phone number on the maps page that Auston’s already got pulled up. They’ve got him on hold long enough that their Uber pulls up while he’s still waiting.

“Let’s just go,” Auston whispers, urgently tugging at his sleeve.

Will gives him a silent dirty look but lets himself be tugged into the uber, not caring all too much when he bumps a little roughly into Auston when he slides in. The uber driver repeats the name of the next restaurant and Auston confirms hastily, urging him to start driving there. Will, who is still on hold, continues to shell out dirty looks directed at Auston.

It’s been at least five minutes, maybe more, when they finally take Will off hold.

_“Thanks for waiting, how can I help you?”_

“Hi, I just have a quick question,” Will elbows Auston excitedly, like it’s an update, despite the fact that he is sitting right there and can most likely hear just as well. “Do you happen to have horchata?”

 _“Unfortunately we don’t currently have horchata on our menu,”_ the guy on the phone says. Auston visibly deflates, and Will’s about to laugh at him, but the uber driver clears his throat.

“I think we’re here,” says the driver.

“Actually,” Auston says, only partially apologetic. “Can you take us here, instead?” He passes up Will’s phone — _wait hey, when did he grab that?_ — where there’s another restaurant already pulled up. The driver looks a little off put but he accepts the phone and transfers the address into his own GPS.

And, yeah, Will’s got one more dirty look saved up, just for Auston.

 

~

 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” says the waitress at the fifth ( _and thankfully,_ Will thinks, _final_ ) restaurant of the day.

“A horchata,” Auston says, maybe a little too quickly. “Please.”

Will hums. “A Coke for me, thank you.”

Auston gives him a look once the waitress leaves. “Since when are you drinking soda twice in a day?”

Will makes a face. “Mind your business, Mister I Need a Horchata or I’ll Die.”

“I’m not judging,” Auston backs off. “I’m just saying, it’s kind of unlike you.”

“I just really wanted a Coke, okay,” Will shrugs. “I’m in the mood for it.”

Auston wants to push at it more but the waitress is already back and sliding a very large glass of horchata in front of him, and wow there are priorities at play, and poking at Will’s habits has definitely slid down the list.

“Jesus,” Will says after they’ve both broken into their drinks. “Okay, maybe we’re both a little weird here.”

Auston hums something that may or may not be agreeable, then goes in on his horchata again.

Will orders a steak and Auston gets some soup with a taco on the side and really, they’re both too hungry to keep up a real conversation. But Auston slurps a little loudly on a spoonful and Will has a thought.

“Is it because you’re homesick?”

Auston pauses, swallows his soup thoughtfully.

“Are you talking about the horchata still?”

Nodding, Will sips at his Coke. “Yeah, did you need it because it reminds you of home or something? Because I’ve got stuff like that, too. Meatballs, you know? Like I get it.”

Auston smiles a little, mulling it over. “No, it’s not anything like that. It’s actually kind of funny,” he says, a little hesitant, “but I never actually even liked horchata as a kid?”

Will blinks. “Wait what.”

“I, uh,” Auston shrugs, stares at his food. “I didn’t really start liking it until recently.”

“Oh,” Will says, and hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Happens, I guess.”

He downs the rest of his Coke real fast.

 

~

 

Lunch itself is quick but their first uber cancels on them after fifteen minutes of waiting, and the second takes so many wrong turns that Will thinks he might get carsick.

Winnipeg fucking sucks.

“I’m only gonna be able to nap for like an hour and it’s your fault,” Will grumbles, cranky, once they finally make it back to the hotel after lunch.

Auston bumps their shoulders. “I’m gonna get the same amount, asshole. We’re suffering together.”

“Bringing the rest of the team down with you, huh, Matts?” And that’s definitely Mitch, piping up from where he and Marty are waiting for the elevator.

“You guys just get back, too?” Will nods at the takeout bag in Mitch’s hand.

Marty groans. “Mitch forgot to make a reservation and then tried to pull the ‘but we’re the Toronto Maples Leafs’ card. Dude, it was such a mess.”

“It worked out,” Mitch tries, but Marty glares at him. He changes the subject. “Anyway, what happened to you guys?”

Will laughs. “Matts over here went on a scavenger hunt throughout the entire city of Winnipeg just for horchata.”

“The drink thing?” Mitch says. “Like. All that just for a drink?”

“It’s not _just_ a drink,” Auston protests. “I had a craving, okay?”

“He loves that shit,” Will shrugs, and it’s not teasing this time, it’s almost defensive, even. Mitch looks curious but he doesn’t push it.

Will thinks he sees Auston’s cheeks pink up a little, but he doesn’t mention it.

 

~

 

Yeah no, Winnipeg _really_ fucking sucks.

It’s not like they had a shitty game; Will thinks he played pretty well, he thinks Auston played pretty well. It just wasn’t enough compared to what the Jets pulled today and that’s just how the game goes, sometimes. Win some, lose some, whatever.

They’ve had worse losses, days where Auston looks at him from across the room kind of desperately. Wanting. There’s that incessant pull, the one that’s always there like a low hum, like background noise, but gets amplified when everything is stripped back to just _needs._ Those are the games where Will feels so much his dynamic that it scares him, scares him to the point he won’t even look at Auston back, won’t mutter a single word.

Today isn’t one of those days, though, so Will figures he can give in, just a little.

“Movie?” he says on the bus, carefully sliding into the empty seat next to Auston.

Auston is a little wary, but unsurprised. He shrugs. “Alright.”

So Auston follows Will up to his hotel room and politely settles on the extra bed while Will fiddles with the HDMI cord. Eventually Will gets it to work and he throws on the first feature that Netflix recommends, then retreats back to his own bed. It’s not like it’s uncomfortable or anything, they’re friends, after all, but there’s something a little off, something that feels not quite correct.

Will sneaks a glance at Auston, who he catches already looking at him.

“Auston? Do you…?” He trails off.

Auston swallows. “Are you— is that okay?”

Will inhales slowly, closes his eyes. Then nods. “Yeah. Come on.”

He scoots a little bit closer to the wall and lifts the covers so Auston can climb in next to him. It’s awkward at first, Auston is still painfully still, obviously hesitant. It’s actually kind of sweet, in a weird, convoluted way, but that’s not what Will wants right now.

“No,” Will says firmer, scooting into Auston’s space until their sides are pressed together. “Come on.”

Auston makes a strangled kind of noise but lets Will do as he pleases, pliant as Will guides him until they’re wrapped around each other. It’s the right side of warm and pleasant and, as much as Will would like to lie to himself, exactly what he’s been craving this whole entire trip.

He thinks it’s probably what Auston needs, too.

 

~

 

Will wakes up to the smell of coffee tinged with something a little sweeter.

He doesn’t know what it is until he slowly blinks awake and sees Auston on the other bed. His hair is messy, little strands sticking up on the top and the sides that are edged in the light leaking in through the curtains. He’s wrapped in the other comforter, poised at the edge of the bed so he can reach the serving cart set up there. He doesn’t notice Will looking, too busy shoveling a too-large chunk of a cinnamon bun into his mouth.

Ah.

“There’s this thing called a knife,” Will props himself up on one elbow, then coughs to clear his throat, voice a little rough from sleep. “You know, before you choke on that.”

Auston is busy chewing but he gives him a look. Eventually he swallows and washes it down with his bottled water. “It’s a maximum cinnabon technique.”

“Cinnamon bun,” Will corrects, reaching until he can steal a piece off of Auston’s plate. Auston watches him, inevitably lets him, but glares nonetheless.

“Hey!” It’s weak.

Will laughs, then continues, “it’s only a cinnabon if it’s from Cinnabon. This is from room service.” He pops the piece into his mouth, then, as if to prove a point. He licks the remaining icing from his fingers.

“Whatever,” Auston groans, trying for annoyed, but Will can tell he’s distracted, doesn’t miss the way Auston keeps stealing glances where Will’s still got his fingers in his mouth. It’s obvious, at least to Will, how hard Auston is trying to keep his cool. His breath is short and his cheeks are beginning to flush. It’s kind of adorable.

“Mhm,” Will hums, cheeky, then removes his fingers slowly, eyes locked with Auston’s in a dare. But then suddenly he breaks, grinning, and immediately goes to steal Auston’s napkin to wipe his fingers off. “Thanks, bud.”

Auston rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, too.

 

~

 

The next road game is a better game, sure, every win is, but Will decides that the overall trip is definitely, by far, worse than the last one.

After all, getting tugged around an entire city by his favorite liney, hungry or not, is inherently more pleasant than an unexpected flash heat. Actually, anything would probably be more pleasant than an unexpected flash heat.

Will’s been on suppressants for longer than he can remember, all thanks to hockey of course, so it poses as both a blessing and a curse in this situation. On one hand, his heats are rare and only last for some hours at a time, usually just overnight. On the other, his heats are so rare that they are still completely overwhelming, and, if even for just a few hours, he feels like he’s a teenager again and is painfully aware of how out of control he is of his dynamic.

Nothing pisses off Will more than remembering his stupid biology, and everything it defines him as.

Which, is only heightened because of Auston. Of course, Auston.

Will’s been around plenty of alphas, really, he has, but it’s different with Auston. Even with everything, er, _personal_ , put aside, Will’s never been around one particular alpha so much, not the way he is around Auston. They’re linemates, they’re peers, they’re best friends.

They’re _different._

So it’s a little weird, when Will’s still undressing in the locker room and starts feeling the vaguely-familiar burn spread from his forehead to his toes, like an ache that intensifies with every inhale and every exhale. The rest of the guys are betas, they would never be able to tell. Hell, with his suppressants, most alphas wouldn’t even be able to tell.

But Auston looks up, as if he’s been slapped in the face. Auston can definitely tell.

He looks at Will from across the room, eyes wide and the color drained from his face. If Will didn’t know better, he’d think that Auston’s holding his breath. Actually, he starts breathing through his mouth and maybe that’s a sign—

“ _Will,”_ he mouths, desperately. Then he shuts his eyes, shuts them hard, and just stops for a moment, focusing on his breathing. Ever the gentleman, that Auston Matthews, trying so hard to control himself around an omega.

But Will, flushed from both the awful burn of his heat and the embarrassment of knowing that Auston _knows,_ speedily finishes dressing, grabs his shit in a messy haste, and gets the fuck out of there.

 

~

 

No one questions it, even though most people would, and for that, Will is a little grateful.

He knows it’s weird, he knows that Auston knows that it’s weird, and they both know that everyone else knows and knows it’s weird. But at this point, weird is so common for the two of them that it’s not really that abnormal, even if this isn’t their normal routine.

Will thinks that he should probably be more indignant about it, about the implications of Auston sitting outside his door all night while he sweats out his heat. He doesn’t need an alpha playing guard dog or whatever. He’s not some treasure that needs to be protected.

That’s what Will knows he should be thinking, would probably be thinking for anyone else. But it’s different when it’s Auston.

He doesn’t dare open his door, he’s smart enough to know how badly that could turn out, but he does make sure to text Mitch so he knows that Auston’s going to be in the hallway for a while and that he’ll probably need an extra pillow and blanket.

They don’t talk, don’t really address it. It’s like a silent understanding, one where Will just accepts that Auston will be outside his hotel room door all night, and Auston accepts that he’s going to become acquainted with that spot of carpet for a few hours.

It can’t be any good for Auston’s back or muscles or the like, but Will can’t bring himself to say anything, do anything, about it. Will can’t bring himself to push him away. Instead, he pops open an emergency can of Coke from the secret stash at the bottom of his suitcase.

It’s gonna be a long night.

 

~

 

Realistically, Will knows he’s not going to die, but wow, you could really fool him right now.

Heats are never easy but this one is probably the worst one he’s had in a while. Probably since before his hormones had settled, all the way back to when he was a teenager and was still upset every time something reminded him of his dynamic.

Well, more so than he does now, anyway. Details.

The first thing he does is text the appropriate people on staff to let them know what’s going on, which includes having to tell Babcock himself that yes, Will is having a flash heat, and also yes, Auston Matthews is camping outside his door.

He watches the typing bubble come up a couple times until Babcock must take pity on him and doesn’t comment on it. He does, however, assure Will that they’ll be sending up the trainer to drop off some stuff — the food and water kind of stuff, thanks — if he needs it.

Will doesn’t know what the trainer does about Auston, doesn’t know how Auston himself is faring, but the trainer manages to use the hotel’s master key to drop off his stuff while he’s in the middle of a futile cold shower.

Once he’s out, Will peeks at his care package. There’s some coolants among the grocery bags, so Will pops a couple and chugs a full Gatorade, and it helps a little bit, helps bring Will back down to the edge of manageable, but not enough to convince himself that it’d be worth the burden of dressing. So he’s tossing and turning miserably on his bed, naked, and completely without any control of his own body and mind. He hates it, he hates it so much.

Breaking Will from his self-pity, there’s a rustling outside his door. Will’s been trying to ignore that whole situation, but his attention is focused on it again, on what’s waiting on the other side.

There’s a waft of sweetness, a thick, sugary scent that he’s come to know uncomfortably well.

Will feels his face heat with the realization, the realization of what that scent means to him, what that scent means for him and Auston. But for now, he lazily rolls off the bed and shuffles through the grocery bags again, a little curious, a little hopeful.

He’s very relieved, but incredibly embarrassed, to find a pack of Coca-Cola.

 

~

 

Not that Will remembers exactly when or how he managed to fall asleep, but by the time he wakes up in the morning his heat has completely subsided and cleared. Aside from a little sweaty and a little gross, he feels perfectly fine, perfectly normal.

He’s gotta shower soon, but he has something he has to do first.

Will carefully opens the hotel door, careful not to be too loud. Lo and behold, Auston is still there, head lolled to the side where he’s slouched against the wall next to Will’s door. There’s a bit of drool on the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Will can’t help but laugh, just a little.

“Auston?” he says quietly, a little hesitant. He crouches until he’s level with him, then pokes him a little.

With a grumble, Auston blinks awake, staring at Will until he remembers why he’s here, why there’s a kink in his neck, and why he’s so relieved to see Will in front of him, okay again. Normal, again.

Auston moves to sit up but ends up jostling a stack of plates settled on the floor next to him. Will hadn’t noticed them before but they’re there, three small dessert plates, three dessert forks, and two large, empty to-go cups.

“Oh,” Auston says a little sheepishly. “Midnight snack,” he offers in partial explanation.

Will kind of looks at the plates and the cups, at what’s dirtying them, and raises a brow. “Let me guess. Cinnamon buns and horchata?”

Auston goes incredibly red, but nods, stretching until he can scratch at the back of his neck. “The horchata cost an arm and leg to deliver. UberEats is a bitch.”

“You’re something else, man,” Will grins then stands, nudges him with his foot. “Come on, go shower, and then we can get breakfast.”

“Yeah, alright,” Auston agrees. “Breakfast.”

 

~

 

There isn’t a team breakfast or anything, not today, anyway. So Auston and Will go down together to eat in the hotel restaurant, just because they’re both exhausted and it’s easy and convenient.

Some of the other guys are scattered around various tables, and they’re polite, of course, nodding their good mornings, but there’s an obvious tension, subtle and harmless, but awkward nonetheless.

So everyone knows, then.

Auston must realize it, too, because he instantly flushes, the back of his neck reddening where Will can see the peak of skin between his hair and the collar of his shirt. He can imagine what his face must look like, too.

It’s not the worst thing that could happen. At least everyone knows that Auston did _not_ assist in Will’s flash heat, and that’s a lot more preferable than the other option. He knows that there would’ve been murmurs about the possibility, had Auston not provided clear enough disproof himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will can’t blame anyone who would’ve thought so, considering the way they are. Not that he’d ever like to admit it.

But no one mentions it, including Auston, so Will tries to shove those thoughts away and avoid it, too.

“You can’t have another cinnamon bun,” Will says before Auston can even open his menu.

Auston freezes, then pouts a little. “Why not?”

“Dude, you had _three_ last night, that’s _so_ not in the diet plan.”

“Fine,” Auston folds his arms. “Then you can’t have a Coke.”

Will narrows his eyes. “I hate you.”

“You sure do,” Auston smirks. “Now drink your water like a good boy, gotta recover somehow.”

Will flips his menu over, letting it land on the table with a soft thud. He scoffs, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yeah?” Auston says low, doesn’t look up from menu.

And that’s not… Will’s face immediately heats up ears pinking. He didn’t mean it like that. Not after—

“You can try, Matthews,” Will says, steady. “But I don’t take orders from anyone except myself.”

Auston looks up then, and Will can see the realization hit him. He almost feels bad, but then Auston composes himself, is back to his normal air of attitude. “‘Cept for Babs,” Auston says, cheeky.

Which, yeah, that’s not entirely wrong. Will tries not to laugh, but he can’t help it, ends up trying to stifle it behind his hands. Not that it works, of course, which makes Auston laugh, too. They’re obnoxious, they’re hopeless.

“Get a room!” someone says from a couple tables over. Auston sticks out his tongue at them, so Will twists until he can see. It’s Mitch, accompanied by Brownie, so he sticks out his tongue, too.

Mitch rolls his eyes. “You two are disgusting.”

“You love it,” Auston hums, and Will nods, backing him up. “Don’t lie to yourself.”

“Want an autograph?” Will grins. “Since you’re like our biggest fan and all?”

“Oh jesus christ,” Mitch grumbles, then goes back to picking at his eggs. “Don’t make me grass you guys up to the nutritionists.”

Auston glares at him, so Will winks, just to keep the balance.

“Yeah no,” Mitch decides, shoving eggs in his mouth. “I definitely cannot stand either of you.”

Will laughs and laughs, and Auston does, too.

 

~

 

There’s a team charity event that’s more or less optional, but it’s a basically a floor hockey clinic at a local school, so most of the youngers guys choose to go. It’ll be fun, kids are usually great, and there’s an all-around strong sense to give back once you’ve made it to the big league.

The outreach team is in charge, so they’re running things. The team is mostly there for the fun parts, and to sign lots of random things for the kids. There’s a presentation on staying active and the importance of exercise, the usual spiel, while the team hangs out in the next room, gets the rundown on the plan.

“There’s two courts set up, we’d like to have two of you on each team with the kids, so partner up,” says the lady with the clipboard. Will’s not really paying that much attention but he gets the gist of it.

He turns to Auston, and Auston’s already turned to him.

“We doing this?”

“Hell— I mean, _heck_ yeah,” Auston grins.

“No cussing in school,” Mitch says, next to them.

“That’s why I—” Auston starts, but then shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

Will’s a little touched, he’s got kid sisters, after all. He can appreciate proper child-radius behavior. It’s cute.

“Come on, let’s do this, Matts,” Will bumps his shoulder. “Good luck, Marns you’re gonna need it.”

“Back atcha, Willy,” Mitch laughs.

They head to the courts and purposefully organize themselves so that it’s Auston and Will’s team against Mitch and Naz’s. They’re staring each other down, because they’re like that, but it’s broken when a bunch of students flood in, little kids who excitedly tell them that they’re in first of second or third grade.

There’s lots of high-fives and hugs and Will feels so in his element here. He’s always been good with kids, which tends to happen when you’re the older sibling of many. He knows how to speak to them so they feel important, he knows how to hype them up.

He glances over to see how Auston’s doing, but instead catches him staring with a dumb look on his face. Will laughs and waves, then resumes his hugs and high-fives without missing a beat. When he looks again, Auston is focused on his own little flock of little fans. He fist-bumps a little boy and Will catches snippets of their conversation, the parts where the boy asks Auston his favorite color (“Definitely Leafs Blue, how ‘bout you, buddy?”) and Auston lights up, engaging.

Will’s busy trying to commit that thought to memory when the lady with the clipboard blows a whistle.

“Guess that means it’s time to beat Marns, right team?” Will says loudly, enough for Mitch to hear and look up.

“Oh did you hear that?” Mitch rallies up his own gaggle of small children. “We gotta get ‘em good now, huh?”

Will looks at Auston, who grins at him. Will winks and they get ready.

The whistle goes off, and then it’s complete chaos.

There’s kids literally everywhere and, even with pennies, Will has trouble keeping track of which kids are his and which aren’t. At some point, he gives up trying to actually play and runs into Auston, bumping him just hard enough to be annoying. But Auston grins instead, like he’s just happy to see him, so naturally, they start plotting their ploy against Mitch.

It’s actually pretty easy.

Auston comes from one side and Will comes from the other. Somewhere along the way they recruit some kids, regardless of team, and convince them to join in on their endeavor. The result is a suitable distraction, in which Mitch is mobbed by schoolchildren, the puck is easily stolen and, effectively buried.

Naz isn’t very helpful to Mitch’s cause, opting to instead sit back and enjoy the show and laugh at Mitch’s futile attempts to convince the kids to switch sides. Meanwhile, Auston and Will set up shooting practice, lining up the remaining kids and having them shoot the net, goal after goal.

Eventually the lady with the clipboard blows her whistle again and school staff starts rounding up the children. The boys say their goodbyes and Will doles out a few more hugs and high-fives while Auston does his.

“See,” Will pokes at Mitch, a little smug, once they’re outside and headed back to their cars. “Told you we’d win.”

Mitch groans, but he’s smiling. “You’re such a shit.”

“Ah,” Will tuts. “No cussing at school, remember?”

Auston snorts, and Will beams.

 

~

 

They go to lunch, as they usually do, but they’re on a time crunch because Auston’s parents are in town, so they opt for a bar that they know has fast service. It’s a Saturday, so it’s a little busier than they’re used to, but they manage to get a table in one corner.

“I’ll just have water,” Auston tells the waitress, “and he’ll have a Coke.”

Will freezes, then tries to give Auston a look, but he’s not looking, nonchalantly flipping through his phone. Will shifts.

“Um, what the fuck?” Will prompts, once he decides that Auston isn’t going to catch on.

“Huh?”

“Dude,” Will says, “why’d you order for me?”

“Oh,” Auston says, like he’s only just realizing. “I just figured.”

“What if I didn’t want a Coke?” Will pushes. “You didn’t even ask me.”

Auston straightens up a little, possibly subconsciously, possibly not. Will doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you. I mean, I can usually read you and like, know what you want.” He gives Will a look. “That stuff just kind of happens, like you’re my friend and you’re an omega so—”

“Woah,” Will stiffens. “Did you seriously just pull the dynamics card? Are you serious?”

“I—” Auston pauses, contemplating his best move, here. “I didn’t...? I don’t...?”

“For real?” Will huffs. “Come on, Auston.”

“Okay well,” Auston huffs right back, eyes narrowing. He straightens up to his full height. “Tell me you _didn’t_ want a Coke.”

Will doesn’t give in, glares steady, but deep down, he knows that Auston is right. Of course he’s right.

When he doesn’t say something right away, Auston smirks, smug, the alpha-ness radiating off of him. It reeks. “See? I know what you want.”

And even if Auston is right, it makes Will even more pissed off than he was before.

“I’m not doing this right now,” Will declares and gets up, which is apparently not at all what Auston was expecting.

( _Hah, how’s that whole reading-Will-and-knowing-what-he-wants thing going now, Matthews?_ )

Will angrily shuffles through his wallet, throws forty bucks in cash on the table, just because he feels a little bad for the waitress. But he otherwise stalks off, straight out of the restaurant, and doesn’t look back. Not once.

If Auston tries to follow him out, tries to chase after him, he wouldn’t know.

 

~

 

The apartment phone, the one on the wall, goes off a little past midnight.

Will isn’t asleep yet, so it’s not that big of a deal, but he’s a little confused because they only have it for the building. He in’t expecting anything, and Kappy’s not even here; he’s back down again, and the Marlies are on the road.

He picks it up, curious. “Hello?”

“Hey um,” says a voice through the crackle of low quality, “it’s me. I’m uh. Look, can you let me up? I’m sorry.”

Even through the static, Will knows. He buzzes him in. “Okay.”

Auston knocks on the door and waits until Will opens it himself, lets him in, and motions for him to take off his shoes. He does, and then stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do, what he _can_ do.

“Alright, you don’t have to do all of that,” Will sighs, tired. “Couch. Let’s talk this out.”

Auston starts, all in a rush, “I’m sorry for doing the whole reading the air thing. I really am, I know you don’t like it.”

Will lets it linger, then exhales. “You’re right. I really, really don’t like it. I don’t like the omega stuff. Like, at all. And you’ve got to know that by now, don’t you?”

Wincing, Auston nods. “I mean, we never explicitly talked about it, but I kind of know. Everyone knows.”

A pause as it sinks in. “I’m sorry, too,” Will admits, worn out. “I shouldn’t have been so, I don’t know, dramatic.”

Auston laughs a little, mirthless, but shrugs. “It’s cool. I sort of deserved it. I shouldn’t be reading anyone or ordering for anyone unless, well. You know,” he trails off and gestures with his hands, instead, but Will knows exactly what he means..

“Yeah.”

It’s silent again, still a little awkward, but not nearly as tense as before. Auston’s fidgeting with the popsocket on his phone, but then pauses, looks up again.

“Uh, can I ask you a personal question? That you can totally ignore I just—”

“Yeah,” Will cuts off his rambling, already knows what it probably is. “Shoot.”

“Why do you hate your dynamic so much?”

And, there we go, the million dollar question.

Will sighs, and runs his hands through his hair, stressed. He doesn't reply right away but he knows that Auston will be patient with him, for this one. He sorts out his thoughts, then eventually, he looks at Auston again, looks him in the eye.

“No one can ever tell me what to do,” he says, so sure and so conclusive.

Auston shifts uncomfortably, then blurts, “but it’s not like that, it’s not about control,” he pauses, looks at Will, probably to see how he reacts. Will keeps a poker face because, well, he’d rather not be read like a book, like he apparently has been this whole time.

“Stop staring at me like that,” Auston sighs. “I know you’re still kind of angry. I can smell it on you without even trying.”

Will doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms petulantly and leans back into the couch.

“Okay fine,” Auston says, “But seriously, it’s not about control. It’s about trust. And like, taking care of each other. And balance.”

Will is not entirely convinced, but he maybe lets his resolve slip just a little.

“And it’s not like we read people because we’re trying to get in their heads. You can’t just… you can’t read just _anyone_ ,” Auston huffs, struggling to find the words. “You’ve gotta know that at least a little bit, Willy. I know you’re on suppressants, but you’ve gotta smell it sometimes, right?”

And Auston’s not entirely wrong. Will isn’t hit with scents too often, but when he is, it’s intense and overwhelming, so he’s usually preoccupied and hasn’t really thought too much on it. Anyway, there’s only one particular scent that he’s encountered, recently, more times than a few, and he’d rather not talk about that, especially not to Auston, himself.

“I just want you to know that I didn’t do it to like, patronize you or anything like that. I did it because I, well, I _care_ about you, okay?” Auston says in a rush, a little desperate. He deflates, falling into the plush of the couch, a little defeated.

Will won’t have any of that. He knows, he knows that Auston has only ever had nothing but good intentions. And even if it’s not… even if it’s not quite what Will wants right now, there is still part of him that knows he wants _Auston_ , all dynamics put aside. And the last thing he wants is to see him like this. See him discouraged.

So acting without really thinking, Will gets up, walks over to Auston, who watches him curiously, then takes a deep breath. He leans in, he grabs his chin.

He kisses him.

 

~

 

Will’s kissed plenty of people before (especially other omegas), has even kissed a handful of alphas in his life, but nothing he’s ever experienced is comparable to kissing Auston. It’s cliche, and therefore totally embarrassing, but it feels electric, like sparks go off as soon as their lips meet. It feels like drinking water for the first time, after a journey through a desert, dehydrated to the brink of death.

It feels perfect, and it feels wonderful, until suddenly, something is flipped like a switch inside of Will and it shifts from something refreshing into a pull, a need, an incessant want.

He knows these feelings, as rare as they come.

As much as it hurts, he manages to pull away, overwhelmed and gasping for air. “Fuck, I—”

Auston breathes in sharply, coughs, pupils dilating. It must’ve hit him, too. “Is that...? Did you just start...?”

Will swallows, labored, and nods.

It’s overwhelming, the sudden wave of flash heat that comes over him. It hits him hard, intensifies immediately. Auston’s scent surrounds him, consumes him, and it’s the only thing he can feel, the only thing he can recognize.

Only Auston would be able to trigger a flash heat, of fucking course.

“Willy, Willy,” Auston pants, fists clenched at his sides, “I think I need to go, I should go.”

And everything inside Will screams its protest, everything in his being tells him to make Auston stay, to not let him leave. To not let him leave when Will needs him here, right now. So he shakes his head, climbs into Auston’s lap, and buries his head in the crook of Auston’s neck.

Auston weakly tries to push him off, but it’s obvious that he’s fighting it, fighting every urge to just take and take and take. “Willy, baby, you’re not thinking straight.”

That’s definitely not what Will wants to hear, not when his head is slowly clouding with heat, so he shuts Auston up in the quickest way possible.

He kisses him again.

This time he doesn’t hold back, licking along the seam of Auston’s lips until he opens up, lets Will tongue at him until he finally moans, melting into it. Hands tangle in Will’s hair, angling him just the right way to get in deep and dirty.

“God, I want you,” Auston groans, winded.

“Yeah?” Will swallows, “then take me.”

But even through the haze, Auston blinks, clears a little bit, shakes his head. “No, not like this, we can’t.”

Will whimpers in protest, needy.

“Okay,” Auston closes his eyes, breathes, focusing. “Okay, I think I have an idea.”

Humming contentedly, Will goes in again, sucking lightly along Auston’s jaw line. He’s careful not to leave any marks, but he nips playfully at the skin there, kisses it when he’s done.

Auston stretches his neck to give Will more room, but also to lean in so he can whisper in his ear, low and throaty. “Ever suck cock before, babe?”

Will freezes, a fresh wave of warmth rising from his stomach, all the way to his cheeks.

Oh.

“I’ve never,” Will starts, then stops. “I don’t know if—”

“Hey, hey, no, it’s okay,” Auston hushes him. “We don’t have to, but. If you want to try?”

Will thinks for a minute, conflicted.

“I’ll talk you through it,” Auston continues. “I think you’ll like it.”

The _because you’re an omega_ is unsaid, but Will hears it nonetheless. Normally he’d be pissed off, especially after the conversation they literally just had, but heat tingles through his body, and his dick twitches at the thought.

Acting before his brain can catch up, Will slides off of Auston’s lap until he’s settled on his knees. Auston nudges at a pillow until it falls off the couch, so Will grabs it, slips it under his knees while Auston repositions himself, shimmying off his pants and his boxers, then splaying his legs until there’s one on each side of Will’s head.

Will watches Auston’s dick bob, already hard and leaking. He almost forgets to breathe, hit with an overwhelming wave of the familiar, saccharine Auston scent, mixed with the thick, musty scent of his want.

It does something for him, enough that Will reaches out, tentative, until he wraps his hand around Auston’s cock, automatically running his thumb over the tip. Auston groans, throws his head back.

Somewhere in the back of Will’s head, there’s a voice, telling him that this is debased, this is low, this is gross, even for an omega. But Will ignores it, pushes it away. He looks up at Auston, who’s looking right at him like he’s desperate, and takes the tip in his mouth.

“Fuck,” Auston says, hand flying to Will’s head, fisting his hair just the right side of tight. Will groans around his dick, swirls his tongue around the tip, dipping into the slit. Auston’s dick leaks with pre-come, and Will laps it up.

It doesn’t taste gross, not like he’d imagined. It’s not necessarily _good_ , but it’s reminiscent of Auston, of his scent. It’s very much him, so Will sucks harder, hallows his cheeks, and takes his fill. He starts to bob his head, one hand wrapped at the base where he can’t quite reach.

Auston is tugging at his hair, lightly guiding him up and down, firm. It’s a steady presence that Will focuses on, uses to ground himself as much as he can.

And then Auston starts talking, and Will thinks he might come in his pants, right then and there.

“That’s right, baby, don’t fight it,” Auston exhales, even as he tries to hold himself back, tries not to buck into Will’s mouth. The words fall from his mouth in a rush, like he says them without thinking, without realizing. “You were made for this, babe, you were made to suck alpha cock.”

Never in a million years would Will have thought that dirty alpha talk would affect him like this, but it’s like a kick to his system, a boost, and he goes down harder, takes more and more like his life depend on it.

“Good little omega,” Auston groans, pushing Will further down his cock, rhythmically letting him up for air at just the right moments. “You love this, huh?”

Mouth occupied, Will just moans, more or less positively. His thoughts are completely overcome with heat, and all he can focuses on is the urge to be good, to please the alpha in front him solely so he can please himself, please his own instincts, please his own need.

“You gonna take it, baby?” Auston groans, tugging Will’s hair particularly tight. “You gonna swallow it down like a good boy, yeah? Take what I give you?”

And, god yeah. Will wants that, wants to taste Auston on his tongue, wants to _feel_ the sweet essence of Auston’s scent, the one he’s become so hopelessly addicted to.

So Will does his best to relax his throat, instincts helping him along, until he can push himself all the way down, nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of Auston’s dick. He hears Auston groan above him, strangled, then looks up through his eyelashes, coy.

That’s all it takes, and Auston’s completely gone for him, uses his grip in Will’s hair to pull him back until it’s just the tip in his mouth. He comes, comes hard, and holds Will’s head there, keeps him still. And Will takes it, closes his eyes and swallows dutifully, liket it’s what he’s meant to do.

Once Auston is done, Will pulls off with a little _pop_ and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Despite just coming, Auston still watches him, hungrily. His eyes flick to Will’s crotch, a warning maybe, before he grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him back in his lap.

“Hey,” Auston says into his neck, hands already working Will’s pants off. “I’m gonna get my hand on you.”

Will nods and whines, eyes screwed shut. Overwhelmed.

Finally, Auston gets his hand on Will’s dick, dry and a little rough. Will makes a noise, a little uncomfortable, so Auston hushes him, trails his fingers down, brusign the base of Will’s dick, then his balls, and then further, dipping between his cheeks.

Will hadn’t noticed, but he’s soaked, leaking, and Auston takes advantage of it, scooping up the slick with his fingers and coating his hand. He tastes it, all the while watching Will, intense.

Will whimpers. “Auston, Auston, _Alpha_ ,” he chokes out.

Auston shivers, obviously affected. But he keeps focus and wraps his fist around Will’s cock again, loose but firm. He strokes in a quick rhythm, pulling little noises from Will, who tucks his head into Auston’s shoulder and muffles them against Auston’s shirt.

“Come on baby, just give in. Let me have it,” Auston murmurs. He starts going a little faster, twists his wrist in just the right way, the way Will loves. “Come on, babe, come for me.”

And that’s it, that’s all Will needs. He’s coming, the pleasure spreading in warm tingles throughout his body. His heat peaks, he can feel it, feel the fresh wave of warmth, but then it’s cooling, still cloudy, but satisfying in a sweet euphoria he’s never quite experienced before.

He stays there for a while as it settles, focuses on just breathing.

“Hey,” Auston finally says in a breath, lazily flicking Will’s ear. He shifts, until he can reach down and grab their discarded boxers. “I wanna cuddle.”

And yeah, that sounds like a good idea right now, so Will lets Auston lead him to his bedroom, lead him to his bed. He lets him cocoon the comforter around them, warm and tight, wrapping them together.

Will snuggles in as close as he can get, presses their bodies together, and sighs.

This is good. This is right.

 

~

 

Will wakes up feeling a little too hot, a little too sweaty, but with his head clear and all traces of heat long gone. It takes him a minute to realize exactly where he is, another to realize what had happened.

There’s Auston, sleeping peacefully in his bed, dressed in nothing but his boxers. Will’s in an equally as naked state, head rested on Auston’s chest as it rises and falls. He’s got an arm flung over his stomach, a leg curled around one of Auston’s knees. Auston’s holding him loosely, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He still smells like Coca-Cola mostly, but also faintly of cinnamon.

Will blinks, confused.

Then suddenly everything comes flooding back in a rush, a blurry haze clouded with heat, but it’s enough for Will to remember, and enough for him to mildly freak out.

Okay, maybe majorly freak out.

He disentangles himself from Auston a little harshly, abruptly, and jumps out of bed. It’s enough to startle Auston awake with a jolt, because he sits up immediately with a sharp inhale.

“What...?” Auston tries, still coming to his senses.

“Oh my god,” Will says, face heating as everything starts to piece together. “We didn’t... oh my _god_.”

And that’s clear, uninhibited panic, Will doesn’t even try to hide it, knows that Auston can see it clearly on him, can probably smell it from a mile away.

He’s right, because Auston winces.

“Will, I—”

“Get out,” Will hisses, face hot, ringing in his ears. “Get the fuck out.”

Auston recoils, but does as he’s told, quickly collecting his clothes and shrugging them on as he makes his way out. Will watches from a safe distance, arms crossed over his chest, guarded. Auston’s got his hand on the door handle when he stops, turns around in a last ditch attempt.

Desperately, he tries, “I’m so sorry, Willy, can we just talk about it—”

“Get out of my house right the fuck now, Matthews,” Will barks. He ignores the flash of hurt, the defeat, in Auston’s eyes. Ignores the sharp pang that hits him when the scent of… of… _despair_ crawls up his nose.

God, that’s dramatic.

( _As if you can judge,_ says the little voice in the back of Will’s head.)

So Will keeps staring him down, chin held high, despite every instinct telling him to cede, every instinct telling him that he’s wrong. Auston doesn’t know that, though, so he goes quickly, lets the door clang shut on his way out.

Will watches the door swing closed, counts to twenty, and only then allows himself to cry.

 

~

 

A day goes by, Kappy comes home, Will cries into his shoulder, and they order cheap pizza.

And then Auston starts trying to reach him again, through a myriad of texts and voicemails and snapchats.

Will doesn’t expect anything different, because they hadn’t left things in any kind of acceptable state, and Auston, of course, desperately wants to fix it.

(To make sure he’s okay. To make sure he didn’t hurt him.)

But the whole situation is fucked, it’s stressing Will out, so he blocks Auston’s number and deletes the voicemails and texts piling up in angry red alerts in the corner of his apps.

“It’s not even that I blame him or anything,” Will huffs. “He didn’t— It wasn’t— fuck, I don’t know, but he didn’t even _want_ to, he wanted to _wait_.”

Kappy makes a sympathetic face, but squeezes his hand. “You’re allowed to be upset, even if it doesn’t seem rational.”

Will sighs. “I know, but. I feel so shitty ignoring him. But I just can’t talk to him right now. I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” Kappy says, like it’s that simple. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Even if it makes me a huge dick?”

“Yup,” Kappy concedes. “Even if it makes you a huge dick.”

“Thanks Kas,” Will hums, “you’re a good bro.”

So Will walks into practice the next day, head held high, ignoring the familiar sweet draft of Coca-Cola in the air, and heads straight to his stall without a glance toward Auston.

But he can definitely feel Auston’s eyes on the back of his head.

Even so, Auston must get the message because he doesn’t come up to him, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try anything. Will figures it’s his way of trying to tone down the alpha-ness, to let Will set this up in his own way.

Which, unfortunately for the both of them, is by Will’s personal favorite means: completely and wholly ignoring the problem.

So Auston gives him space, but that doesn’t mean he gives up.

“Hey, Kappy,” Auston says, nervous, out of his element. “Um, can I just ask you, uh.”

Kappy makes a face. “What do you want, Matthews?”

Auston frowns, but he continues anyway, “is Will okay?”

There’s a pause, but then Kappy breathes out, a little put out. “No, but he’s working on it.”

“Do you think I should—”

“Absolutely not,” Kappy doesn’t even let him finish. “Let Will do things at his own pace.”

Auston straightens up, looks like he’s about to argue, about to pull the ‘you can’t tell an alpha what to do’ routine, but he pushes it down quickly, cools almost immediately. He ducks his head.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll,” he swallows, nervous, “Yeah. I’ll wait.”

 

~

 

It’s a double home win, one for the Leafs, one for the Marlies, so it’s a good mix, a handful of guys from both teams, taking over half of this bar.

Will’s not really really drinking, mostly because he’s aware that Auston is also here, and that Auston has been at the forefront of his thoughts for the past few days, so it’s maybe not the best combination, lest he accidentally do or say something stupid and make a fool out of himself.

He’s been on the same beer for a while, watching Kappy finish off his third. It’s an overall good vibe all around, the adrenaline of the win still coursing through him. He had a good game, he put up some points, he’s proud of himself.

Which is why it sucks just a little that the whole mood is dampered by the knots in his stomach that he hasn’t been able to push away for the past few days, by the lump in his throat that he hasn’t been able to swallow since that morning.

He unintentionally tunes out of the table conversation, lets his eyes wander around the crowd scattered throughout the bar. He doesn’t realize what exactly he’s doing until he skips over his teammates, skips over some cute betas at the bar, skips over the group of alphas near the back.

Skips until he finds Auston, sees him at the far end of the bar, leaning in to talk some blonde omega girl. She says something, twirling a piece of her hair, and he laughs, smiles wide enough to reach the corner of his eyes.

Will feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Bathroom,” he stands up abruptly, startling his friends. They don’t question it, though, they let him go.

He beelines for the restrooms, shouldering a little harshly past the crowds. He kicks open the door and instantly goes to the sink, cupping the water in his hands so he can splash it over his face, so he can try to snap back into himself, so he can try to _cleanse_ himself.

He repeats the process, ignoring the people who come and go, who look at him curiously or ignore him, as well. He stays there, studying himself in the mirror until he’s cooled down a little, until he’s no longer on the edge of a breakdown.

Well.

Will’s stomach continues to churn, but in a different way, a new way. He’d never admit that he’s jealous, but jealousy is what fills him, swirling with want and hurt and longing. It consumes him, in a cool, low burn.

And Will’s never thought of himself as the type, but he thinks he knows what he has to do to silent the emotions that just will not shut up.

He goes out to the bar, scans the crowd again. He doesn’t see Auston, but he’s not looking for him, so if he’s still there or not, Will wouldn’t know. Instead, his eyes land on Dima, who is sitting at a booth with some other Marlies, but is obviously zoned out, much more focused on staring at his beer.

Will doesn’t waste any time, makes his way across the bar, waving in and out of the crowds. He slides into the booth, right next to Dima, and presses their sides together. He links their ankles together and rests his hand on Dima’s thigh, intentions clear.

Dima breaks his staring contest with his beer and looks at him curiously. “Willy?”

Will grins, eyes dark. He acts without really thinking, leans in until his lips brush Dima’s ear. Then, lowly, “you wanna get out of here?”

“Um,” Dima blinks, mind catching up faster than his body.

“I’ll meet you in the bathroom,” Will whispers, then finally pulls away from his ear. He walks back to the restroom with his chin high, a new air of confidence. Of control.

So Dima follows him there and Will’s on him immediately, dragging him into a stall and pressing him into the wall, kissing him deep. Dima tries to take control, alpha instincts and all, but Will hold his arms down, dares Dima to challenge him.

He doesn’t.

“Fuck, Willy,” Dima pants, when they finally break for air. “I used to be so fucked over you, dude, I never thought—”

“Oh?” Will grins, moving to suck on Dima’s neck, trailing kisses down to his collarbone. “Like in the A or like, when we were kids?”

Dima thinks it over. “More when we were kids. I mean, I was literally there when you, uh, presented.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m aware.” He resumes his work, biting at the jut of Dima’s collarbone.

“Oh shit,” Dima whines, clutches a hand in Will’s hair. He’s careful not to pull too hard, but he goes for it, lightly tugging in a way that gets Will going. It works, because Will groans, hands trailing down Dima’s stomach until they pause at his waistband.

Will leans in, until he can kiss Dima, wet and dirty. He pulls away, just a little, lips brushing against Dima’s when he says, “I wanna blow you.”

Dima makes a strangled noise, nods furiously. Will smirks against his lips, then goes, falls to his knees and gets to work, undoing Dima’s pants.

Yeah, this is definitely what he needed.

 

~

 

Dima leaves first, hurriedly doing his pants back up and wiping up with the shitty one-ply toilet paper. Will lets some time pass until he gets up, too. He returns to the sink, returns to splashing his face until he looks a little bit more presentable, a little less wrecked. His lips are swollen, his hair dishevelled. He knows that anyone could look at him and know exactly what he’s been up to. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

Once he returns to his own table, half the guys are already gone, but Kappy’s till there, scrolling through Instagram. Will spares a glance at Dima’s table, but it’s empty, too.

“Where’d you go?” Kappy asks, casually. He doesn’t even bat an eye when he takes in Will’s appearance. He’s a good friend.

“Doesn’t matter,” Will shrugs. “You wanna go home soon?”

Kappy nods, “yeah, I’ll go close out the tab. You wanna call the uber? I’ll meet you outside.”

Will agrees and heads out, thankful for the cool air. It feels nice, refreshing, after the carousel of emotions he’s been through tonight.

But then.

“Will?”

And Will knows that voice anywhere, looks up immediately. “Oh. Hey, Auston.”

He’s admittedly surprised to see him, figured he’d picked up that omega girl at the bar. In fact, he looks around, doubles checks that Auston’s by himself, but he is. It’s just him, with the uber app out, waiting patiently, alone.

Will’s also surprised to find that the swirl of awful emotions from before does not return to the pit of his stomach. He can’t find it in himself to be angry right now, in this moment. Instead, he only finds exhaustion. He’s just tired.

“Are you ever going to talk to me?” Auston says, kind of quiet. It’s not accusatory, just kind of… sad.

And that hurts a little bit more.

Will shrugs, doesn’t look at him. Auston exhales, then takes a step towards him, slow, like he’s waiting for Will to tell him to stop. He doesn’t.

Auston grabs his hand, gently, and Will lets him. The stubborn part of him screams to push Auston away, to keep denying him, to make him feel the same way that Will had. But a larger part of him just misses him. Misses this. And he is weak, craving Auston more than he’d ever admit.

But just when he’s close enough to be exactly where Will wants him, Auston pulls away, abrupt. Will startles, looks at him, confused. Auston’s face is twisted in a curious look, like he’d been hit in the face without expecting the blow.

“What’s,” Auston pasuses, voice wavering, “what’s that smell?”

Will blinks. “What?”

“You don’t,” Auston swallows, rough, realization slowly seeping in. “You don’t smell like you?”

_Oh._

“Oh, uh,” Will stumbles, eyes going wide when he gets it.

“Is that,” Auston stops, has to recompose himself. Then, hardened, cold, “is that from another alpha?”

Will takes a deep breath. And then he gets mad. “What, you’re the only one that’s allowed to hookup?”

Auston gives him a look, a little angry, but mostly hurt. “The fuck are you even talking about?”

“I saw you with that girl,” Will says. “That omega at the bar. The blonde one.”

Auston’s eyes go wide, and then he laughs, loud and incredulous and mean. “You’re kidding me.”

Will glares.

“I didn’t _sleep_ with her,” Auston nearly shouts, like he can’t believe this. “She was a _fan,_ Will, I was being _nice_ .” Auston turns, kicks at rock on the ground, cursing. “I didn’t even want her. Or anyone. And _fuck you_ if you didn’t know that.”

The realization splashes over Will like a shock, the pit in his stomach growing and the lump in his throat creeping up further and further. He feels numb, skin cased in goosebumps.

He scents the air, hesitant.

All he smells is the too-familiar waft of pure Coca-Cola.

 

~

 

Auston doesn’t try to talk to him, not anymore. He is just as complicit in this as Will, now. But Will can hardly blame him here.

He screwed up, he _knows_ he screwed up.

And the thing is, Will knows that the ball’s in his court this time. He’s the one who will have to apologize, he’s the one who will have to fix this. But then, there’s that small voice in the back of his head that urges him not to, that convinces him that he can’t do that to Auston. Can’t try to reel him back in.

Because he doesn’t deserve Auston, not after that.

So they don’t talk, don’t look at each other. They interact when necessary, because they’re still somewhat adults and somewhat professionals. If anything, hockey is more important than anything, or anyone, to the both of them. Hockey will come first, when necessary, but the line is past drawn.

Kappy’s a good friend; usually comes home, lets Will cry on his shoulder, orders cheap pizza.

“People makes mistakes,” he assures him. He doesn’t ever say anything judgemental or patronizing, only ever says the things that Will wants to hear, needs to hear.

“He deserves a good omega, a nice traditional one who isn’t fucked up.”

With a face, Kappy nudges him. “Anyone would be lucky to lock you down. Including Auston Matthews.”

“I’m awful, I don’t even know how to be an omega, I can’t even smell right.”

Kappy rolls his eyes. “If this is about the bar—”

“I should've known, he didn’t smell like anyone except himself, I’m such an asshole.”

“You weren’t even together,” Kappy reasons, “and you guys were fighting, anyway.”

“I bet a good omega wouldn’t have been fighting over that in the first place,” Will exasperates, flinging himself into the couch, defeated.

“Fine,” Kappy shrugs. “If you want to let him go, then let him go. Don’t fight to get him back.”

Will just makes a noise, muffled into the couch cushions.

“Do you want a Coke?” Kappy yells from the kitchen.

Will doesn’t answer, but Kappy knows that means ‘yes.’

 

~

 

It’s a few days later, when Will gets to practice early, hoping to beat the crowd because he’s really not feeling it today. The cravings are getting worse, the longer he stays away from Auston, so he sticks a couple bottles of Coke in his bag, stops at a drive-thru on the way to the rink, and tries to focus on hockey.

Yet, as fate is so cruel to him, he pushes open the doors to the locker room, completely empty, save for Auston Matthews, who is sipping on a bottled horchata, looking a little on this side of terrible.

Auston freezes, looks at him, then turns away. Well, then. Will heads to his own stall and sets his drink down. He starts to get ready, dressing quickly, but focusing on it. Pointedly ignoring Auston. Once he’s done, he settles in his stall, facing in the other direction than Auston’s, and grabs his drink again.

It’d be perfectly fine, really, but then Mitch strolls in as cheery as usual, bright and ready for practice.

Mitch stops and has to do a double take, because on opposite ends of the room are Will and Auston, each miserably chugging their respective definitely-not-diet-plan-approved sugary drinks.

Okay, yeah, this is getting kind of ridiculous.

“Would you two come up for air for maybe two seconds and try, I don’t know, _talking_ to each other about it?”

Will steals a quick glance at Auston, who pouts, and then immediately glares at Mitch.

“Nah,” he says, then conclusively puts his mouth back on his straw.

 

~

 

They’re not just losing, they’re getting completely and totally dominated. They’re playing like shit, their passes aren’t connecting, and it’s overall pretty embarrassing. Will keeps glaring at Auston from across the ice, because sure, they’re fighting or whatever, but they still play gorgeous hockey together, and it’s pissing Will off that this kid can’t just catch his goddamn passes. It’s kind of pathetic and it’s getting on Will’s last nerve.

They line-change and Will pointedly slows down just so he won't have to sit next to Auston. He still glares at him from down the bench, though. And Auston, foregoing everything he knows as an alpha, glares right back. It’s kind of satisfying, knowing that he has that effect on him.

They’re up again soon enough, and Auston gets thrown out of the faceoff, so Will swizzles up, gets into position. The other guy’s a beta, but must know that Will is an omega, because he tries to use his size to intimidate him. Will is unimpressed, scoffs even.

“Think you’re hot shit, huh omega kid?” The guy growls, quiet enough that only Will can hear.

“I don’t think I am,” Will says, airy, “I know I am.”

“You sure? ‘Cause today you’ve played like you’d be more useful for a quick knot than anything on ice.”

And, Will’s been playing hockey as an omega for a while now. He’s spent plenty of time in the A, has spent some time up, and thus, has heard it all before. He doesn’t like it, but he knows how to handle himself just fine.

“Like you’d know a good knotting if you saw one,” Will grins, much to the guy’s displeasure. But it doesn’t matter, because the ref’s there, ready to drop the puck.

Will wins the faceoff, and he’s pretty smug about it.

The next time they’re up, Auston gets to stay in the faceoff circle, nose-to-nose with the same asshole that Will had dealt with before. Will’s pretty far back, much out of earshot, but he sees them talking, growling insults at each other. But then he sees Auston’s face flame red, sees him straighten up, stretch to his full height.

Sees him throw down his gloves and shove at the guy, who grins, like he’s won.

The guys pointedly looks over Auston’s shoulder, stealing a glance directly at Will, and then goes in for the punch, hooking Auston square in the jaw.

All hell breaks loose.

It’s kind of a blur, because Will can’t believe what he’s seeing. When the league had agreed to allow alpha and omega players, it was with the caveat that alphas could not formally fight. Instincts can be delicate things, and hormones in a hockey setting are volatile, could kick into gear and completely switch at any moment.

On a personal level, Will had never taken Auston as the type to even _think_ about fighting, dynamic or not. He loves hockey, pure, beautiful, skill-based hockey. It’s… very unlike him.

Either way, there’s guys everywhere, including Mo, who grabs Will and pulls him away from the fight back to the bench. For safekeeping, he supposes. An angry alpha illegally fighting, best keep the poor little omega away from the danger.

Okay, that’s a little much, Will decides, even for him. It actually is kind of dangerous for him. He thanks Mo and watches in awe, from afar.

Auston is clearly losing this fight, but he doesn’t give up, completely determined. Where he lacks in actual fighting skills, he tries to make up for in heart, swinging missed punches uselessly but with his all.

He’s saying something to the other guy, who keeps a grip on Auston’s jersey while he says something right back. Will can’t hear them but he has a theory of what it might be about. His heart sinks.

Auston doesn’t deserve this.

Eventually, the officials manage to separate Auston and the other guy, who is mostly calm and a little smug looking. Auston, on the other hand, looks wrecked. His hair is a mess, he’s got bruises and a cut or two on his cheek, and his knuckles are red, beginning to yellow. He’s panting, exhausted, but still glaring at the other guy like he still wants to go at it again.

They pull him away, shove him in the direction of the tunnel. He glances at the bench, at Will, for a split second, softens just slightly, then goes.

Will takes a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

They announce that it’s matching ten-minute majors and a Matthews dismissal from the game, as per NHL rules. Incidents regarding alphas are usually very strict, very much to the book. No one’s happy, not when they’ve lost Auston for the rest of the game, but they make do, try to make it through the rest of the game.

Ten minutes pass and the other guy comes back. He keeps eyeing Will up, and well, if that’s how he wants to do this, they’re already down by five with Auston out, Will doesn't have anything to lose.

He skates up to him, chin high, shoulders squared. “Let’s go,” Will declares.

The guy blinks at him, a little disbelieving. “You serious?”

Will gives him a bored look, moves to yank off his gloves. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

The guy blinks, drops his stick, and moves to shuck his gloves, but Will’s already yanked off one of his his, and doesn’t waste time in landing a good one right on the nose.

Perhaps it’s a little too well-planted because his nose starts bleeding, but Will chalks it up to Auston getting this guy prepped. The guy swings at him, and Will doesn't have enough time to dodge it. His fist connects with Will’s cheek and it sends him off balance. Will, however, doesn’t give in that easily. He grips the guys jersey, righting himself again, and then swings, aimless.

Luck happens to carry him, once again, because he manages to uppercut him, right in the jaw.

He’s about to go in again, but there’s suddenly hands on him, firm, yanking him away, and spoiling his fun.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing,” the linesman says in his ear, dragging him across the ice. “Are you insane?”

Adrenaline pumping, Will shrugs, doesn’t say anything. Probably for the best.

“This is so fucked,” the linesman mutters, more to himself. He makes Will sit in the box while the officials huddle up and have a meeting. Will figures they’re sorting out his minutes, there’s gonna be a double-minor at least, for the blood. He’s probably gonna get an angry call from his dad after this one.

But then the officials break and a ref comes back to the box to grab him. He’s confused, but he goes, yanked across the ice and toward the tunnel. Somewhere in the background he hears the ref announce that following dynamic rules, Will is also to be thrown out of the game, with another ten-minute major.

That’s new, unexpected, but Will supposes that there’s little precedent for omegas getting into fist fights, so he shrugs. He doesn't dare look at Babs, who is heatedly arguing with the officials, and instead heads down the tunnel toward the locker room.

Toward Auston.

Auston, who has been watching the game from a TV screen and has been waiting for him since they’d announced the call. In fact, the TV’s still going, showing close-ups of Babs vehemently arguing. The officials are back in a huddle, headsets on, probably trying to sort it out with the war room.

But Will’s not really focusing on that. He’s busy focusing on someone else.

And Auston’s looking right back at him, wide-eyed.

Will grins, toothy. Auston looks incredulous at first, but then shakes his head and laughs.

“William Andrew Michael,” Auston tuts, but fond. “I can’t believe.”

“Better start, then,” Will slides in next to him. Knocks their shoulders together. Auston presses closer, shuffles until Will’s head rests on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, taking in his scent, and then sighs a little wistfully.

“Dude I missed you,” Auston finally says.

“Me, too.” Will hums agreeing. “Hey, what’d that asshole say to you?”

Auston swallows uncomfortably. “Some mean things. About omegas. About you.”

“I figured,” Will admits. “He said some shit to me, too, earlier. But I’m used to it.”

“That’s fucked,” Auston grumbles, wraps an arm tighter around Will’s shoulders.

Will shrugs. “It’s chill, I think we showed him, huh?”

Auston laughs, relaxing again. “Yeah, you definitely got him good.”

They watch the rest of the game on the screen, watch their team scramble to try to do something, but it unsurprisingly doesn’t happen. They prep themselves for the scolding they’re gonna get, brace up for the wrath of Babs, but at the end of the day, they figure it won’t be so bad.

Not when they're in this together.

 

~

 

They have a long talk about it, about _them_ , over cheap pizza in Will’s bedroom.

“I don’t want to be official to the public or anything,” Will says, “but I want to be official for us? And like our close friends and family, that’s okay, too.”

“Okay, same,” Auston nods. “I don't want people putting it with hockey.”

“Exactly,” Will agrees. “And then about the whole dynamic thing—”

“I’ll tone it down,” Auston says quickly, but Will shakes his head.

“No, actually. I kind of, uh, I want to try stuff out?” He tries. “I mean, I’m still me, and all of that. But, it can’t hurt to do some omega stuff sometimes, I think. Not if I like it, anyway.”

“Oh,” Auston scratches his neck.

“And uh, I’ve thought about it, and I may not have liked all the omega stuff before, but I think I might, with you? I trust you, to try things with, I mean.”

And it’s awkward, Will stumbles over his words, over his thoughts, doesn’t quite know how to organize them, but he trusts Austons with that, too. Trusts him to be patient, not to judge, and to shuffle through Will’s thoughts as if they were his own.

“Alright,” Auston hums, thinking. “We can definitely do that.”

“Really?” Will says, like he didn’t expect Auston to get it, didn’t expect him to agree so easily. He’s a little surprised.

Auston shrugs. “I’m actually kind of honored,” he pauses when Will makes a face. “You know, that you trust me with that.”

And, oh.

Will smiles, warm, can’t help it.

 

~

 

They have a good run, better than anyone had expected, but their season inevitably ends and brings with it the moment that both Auston and Will had been silently dreading.

Will’s headed to Europe, to Worlds, and then to Stockholm for the rest of the summer to appease his family. Auston’s plan is more or less similar; he’s headed back to Scottsdale to recover, to refresh, to be with his own family.

They haven’t talked about it or anything, but they’ve known, deep down.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” Will says, practically on top of Auston from where they’re cuddling in his bed, Netflix on in the background. They’d just dropped Kappy off at the airport, yet another indicator that the timer is almost done, that pretty soon Will will be on a plane, too.

Auston holds him closer. “It’ll go by fast,” he says, but he sounds like he’s still trying to convince himself.

Will sighs, doesn't say anything for a while, just focuses on the feeling of what it’s like to be here, with Auston. Tries to commit it to memory, knows that he’ll want it for later.

But then he has thought, takes a deep breath, and rolls off of Auston until he can look him in the eye.

“We should fuck,” he says with no grandeur at all, as if he’s just talking about the weather.

Auston coughs, surprised, and scrambles to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, what?”

Will rolls his eyes. “You heard me. We should fuck,” he repeats. “Something to remember. For the summer.”

Auton blinks, swallows, breathes. And then he groans and grabs Will, pulls him in until he can kiss him, good and deep.

“I mean, yeah I’m down,” Auston says, when he finally pulls away. “But not if it’s just because you think we should. We don’t have to, I’m also fine with just doing what we always do.”

Will shrugs. “No, it’s not like that,” he assures him. “I want to. I’ve been thinking about it.”

Auston makes a pained noise, and Will smirks.

“So, yeah? We’re gonna fuck?”

“This isn’t a heat thing?” Auston says quickly, makes sure.

“Nope,” Will pops the ‘p’ sound, “no heat. Just me.”

Then Auston nods, grinning, and then grabs him by the shoulders, flipping them until Will lands on his back and Auston can loom over him. He doesn’t waste time, doesn’t wait for Will to start whining, he dives in and locks their lips together.

They get into it quickly enough, the mood at least, but Auston still takes it slow, takes his time savoring Will’s kisses, savoring the taste of him. Somewhere along the line, Will manages to tug Auston’s shirt over his head, hands wandering all over him, tracing over every curve and edge, careful not miss a spot.

Auston returns the favor, managing to part for a moment, just long enough to grab the hem of Will’s shirt, to unceremoniously tug it off of him. He ogles him for a second, takes in the complete picture, and then resumes his work.

He wastes no time in patterning a trail of hickeys from Will’s collarbone, all the way down his chest until he can nip at a nipple, pink and pert. He rolls it gently between his teeth, earning a yelp from Will.

Auston shimmies out of his pants while he works at Will’s chest, licking circles around Will’s nipple while rolling the other between his fingers. His other hand trails down the dip between Will’s abs, brushing lightly over his navel, before resting at the button of his pants.

Bucking into Auston’s touch, Will groans. “Yeah, yeah, go for it. That’s,” he pauses, inhaling sharply when Auston nips at him, “that’s good.

So Auston pops open the button with his thumb, carefully drags down the zipper. Will arches his hips off the bed, helps Auston tug his pants away. He’s left in his boxers, tented and stained, both in the front and back. Will feels himself flush, sees it spread down his chest.

But Auston has to take a deep breath, overwhelmed. “Just for me,” he breathes and, yeah, that’s a lot.

Will arches up again, wiggles a little, until Auston gets the message. He arches a brow but complies, hooks his fingers in the elastic around Will’s waist and tugs his underwear all the way off.

Will’s scent fills the room, heady and deep. It’s not as strong as it’d be in heat, but it’s still powerful, powerful enough to send Auston reeling.

To send Auston down and down and down, until he’s between Will’s thighs, nose pressed between his cheeks.

Will whines high and desperate, a shock pulsing through him the minute that Auston gets his tongue on him, flat over his hole at first, and then circling the rim, lapping up the leaked slick. Will trembles, feels the pleasure ripple through him.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” Auston says, close enough that Will can feel the words, breathy, over his hole.

It’s a lot, so Will can’t find words, just makes an embarrassing noise and wraps an encouraging leg around Auston’s shoulders.

“Yeah, okay,” he can feel Auston smile against him, and he’s about to complain again but Auston goes in, pushes his tongue inside. It drives Will crazy, and he says so, spurs Auston along.

And then Auston pulls out a little, makes room to get his fingers in. He swirls his tongue until it pops out, keeps it along the rim. His fingers come up then, wedged between Will’s cheeks, until he can push one in, long and steady. Will groans, pushes into it.

“Shh, I’ve got you, babe,” Auston says, then continues to add another, tonguing around them, right where they connect with Will. Eventually he gets three in, thrusts them in and out until Will is practically sobbing, legs shaking.

Finally, and a little regretfully, Auston pulls away, sits back up. Will glares at him, meanly, feeling empty and on edge.

“Dude—” Will starts, but chokes off as soon as Auston rises to his knees and grabs his own cock, pumping it a couple of times. It grows larger and larger and Will can’t look away from it, mesmerized. Hungry.

“Condom?” Auston manages to ask.

Will blinks, then shakes his head. “Suppressants.”

Auston gives him a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Will nods enthusiastically. “They cover all of that, don’t worry. And,” he pauses, sly, “I want to feel you inside of me.”

Completely wrecked, Auston closes his eyes and groans. “The things you do to me, Willy.”

He leans in for another kiss, a little tongue, but mostly just for the contact, the reassurance. Will can feel it, the passion, the love, whatever you want to call it, radiating between them.

At some point, Auston manages to flip them again, so he’s leaning against the headboard and holding Will on top of him. Will’s sucking a hickey just under his collarbone, leaving his mark.

Leaning in, Auston groans into his hair. “Ride me?”

Nodding against Auston’s chest, nose brushing over the newly bruised flesh, Will hums his agreement. He sits up and scoots back, until he can feel the warmth of Auston’s cock between his legs. Auston hums and Will can feel his dick twitch from under him.

Eyes locked with Auston’s, Will reaches behind him until he can feel the slick running down his thighs. He coats his hand in it and then grasps Auston’s cock, dutifully coating it in quick pumps. Auston swallows, flushed.

Eventually, Will deems it ready, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He lines the tip up with his hole, then, at the last second, opens his eyes to hold Auston’s gaze while he simultaneously sinks onto his cock.

Auston tries to keep eye contact but gives up, throws his head back and screws his eyes shut. Panting, he manages to groan, “you’re so fucking hot and tight and perfect and— oh my god, babe, oh my god.”

Will laughs, breathless. He strategically places one hand on Auston’s shoulder and the other on his chest, palm flat. He uses the leverage to slide himself up and down, clenching rhythmically on Auston’s cock. He feels so full, so complete, and it’s amazing, it’s incredible.

Auston’s hands find their way to Will’s ass, grips one cheek in each hand and pulls them apart, giving Will that little extra room to slip down further, get that little bit deeper. He screams, grip tightening painfully on Auston’s shoulder, clenching unbelievably tight. Auston makes a matching noise, bucks up into him.

Eventually, Will starts whining, small little noises from his throat. His thighs are trembling and his arms shaking. As soon as Auston notices, he shifts, hands moving up Will’s back to support him.

He sits up quickly and sends Will down into the mattress, flat on his back, in one swift move. Will isn’t expecting it, he’s surprised, eyes going wide, but then Auston’s moving and he’s melting into it, closing his eyes and taking it all in.

“Just relax, baby, I’ll get you there,” Auston says over him, his hair sweaty, dangling messily around his face. He gets a hand on one of Will’s thighs, pushes it up until it’s bent all the way, knee pressed to Will’s chest. He keeps his other hand on Will’s hip, sure that his grip will leave bruises of his fingertips come morning.

Will relaxes, focuses on the feeling of Auston pistoning in and out of him, of the slick slide of his cock. He make some noises, maybe says some words, but it’s incoherent. There’s only one thing on his mind.

“Knot me, Auston.”

And that’s all it takes, that’s enough to push him over. So Auston does exactly what he’s told and shoves in all the way, until they’re pressed together impossibly close. He comes and comes, hot inside of Will, as his knot begins to form, locking them together.

Will feels so incredibly full, filled with the essence of Auston, surrounded by him, inside and out. Auston’s knot tugs at Will’s rim a little, just barely, but it’s enough to overwhelm Will in this state, sending him to his own orgasm, intense and messy. He clenches around Auston, who whines, sensitive, and spills over his stomach.

There’s a moment where they just stay like that, catching their breaths, savoring the feeling, committing to memory. But eventually, Will groans, and Auston does, too. Will feels more than sees Auston reach off the side of the bed, notices him grope around until he finds one of their shirts, uses it to wipe them off.

By the time he’s done, his knot has gone down enough for him to pull out. He does, slowly and carefully, but Will still grunts, sensitive and feeling stretched, empty.

“Hey, hey,” Auston hushes him, pulls him close. He trails a hand down Will’s back, gets his fingers between his cheeks, then pushes two in, gentle and firm. Will swallows, it feels a little weird, but it’s exactly what he needs, of course it is. Of course Auston knows.

“Better?” Auston asks him.

Will sighs, relaxes into the warmth of Auston, soothed by his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yeah,” Will murmurs. “Perfect.”

 

~

 

Stockholm in the summer is always nice, refreshing. It’s home, it’s his family, it’s relaxing. But, as much as Will loves Europe, it lacks Auston Matthews, and that’s enough to make him eager to say his goodbye to Swedish summers, to his family, so he can return to Toronto.

So he can return to Auston.

Auston’s already there, had flown in the week before to make sure everything gets settled with his new apartment. His family had come along to help him out. They’d actually asked after Will and had sounded genuinely disappointed when he had to tell them that he’d still be in Stockholm by the time they left. But they’d promised to arrange something the next time they’re in town, excited to meet him again, meet him as Auston’s, well, his boyfriend.

But this does mean that Auston’s already settled, already has his car in Toronto and an apartment completely to himself, so he offers to pick Will up from the airport, just to make things easier.

Will finds Auston easily in the crowd, despite the fact that he’s wearing a hoodie with the hood up, a baseball hat, and sunglasses. Real inconspicuous there, Auston. But Will finds him by following his scent, sugary and sweet. Wouldn’t be able to miss it anywhere, especially after craving it for so long.

He’s standing there, half hidden by a pillar, flicking through his phone with one hand and cradling a nearly empty to-go cup of horchata in the other.

Auston must notice him by scent, too, because once he’s close enough, Auston’s head snaps up and he immediately spots him. Grinning, wide and glowing, Auston pulls him in, hugs him close, face tucked into the crook of Will’s neck. He inhales deeply, unashamed.

“The real thing is so much better than bottled,” Auston murmurs, muffled.

“Hello to you, too,” Will laughs, pulls away just a little and kisses him, just once, quick and chaste. “But dude, I know,” Will continues, a little embarrassed.

He swings his backpack around until he can unzip it, then sheepishly extracts three empty bottles of Coca-Cola, carefully tossing them in the trash. “My parents almost staged an intervention. I almost had to start smuggling it.”

Auston blinks, is incredulously silent for a moment, then laughs and laughs and laughs.

Will rolls his eyes, but smiles still.

“Come on,” he grins, “remind me why the real thing’s better.”

And Auston is weak. For Will, at least. So he goes.

They’ve got plenty of time to make up for.

 

_(the end.)_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****

**Author's Note:**

>  **Full Warnings:**  
>  • There is a scene where characters willingly engage in sexual activity while under the influence of heat symptoms, are aware that they may regret it, but end up continuing anyway. After, a character regrets it and is very upset.  
> • There is a scene where Will has non-explicit, implied sexual activity with a character that is not Auston. While there is no infidelity, Will has sex with this person for the wrong reasons and doesn’t feel entirely great about it after. There is also alcohol consumption in this scene but the characters are not drunk.  
> •There are nongraphic mentions of blood, feeling like throwing up, and "cheating the diet plan"/nutrition/diet  
> • **SEX WARNINGS:** There are two explicit sex scenes between Auston and Will, that, in no particular order, include: blowjobs, come swallowing, hair pulling, dirty talk, handjobs, omega slick, rimming, anal fingering, barebacking, a/b/o knotting
> 
> ~
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  • First off, a HUGE shout out to the Pucking Rare mods for setting this up and for all the work they put into creating and running this challenge!  
> • The original prompt for this was solely “Auston Matthews/William Nylander, A/B/O with pining” lol. I hope you enjoyed, my dear anon!  
> • The timeline is super hand wavey, please don’t look up any schedules to compare. Please.  
> • Title from “Buttercup” by Hippo Campus, which is on my Auston/Willy playlist that you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/btwfplg2n27rcuem542z1stn1/playlist/7mLe4P2Y38vBfQtuE7KRX2) on spotify  
> • Come hang out with me on twitter @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite)!
> 
> ***Also! I don't know why it's anon and I'm tryna fix it but hi, I'm [AO3 User Pinkmanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite), I like writing William Nylander fics and this fic is my actual baby!!


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